The great dog turned toward Dan and wagged his tail as evidence of good will. But his hackles remained raised as he accompanied the boy into the cabin. The good smell of frying bacon perfumed the air. Standing over the stove, Jeff looked around questioningly.

"Isn't that bucket a load for you, Dan?"

"Nah! I can carry it."

Jeff grinned. Most boys were proud of their physical prowess and he had not offended Dan by offering to draw the water for him. He broke eggs into the sputtering skillet. Pal growled and Jeff turned again to look.

"What's ailing him?"

"I don't know. He must have smelled something he don't like. When he came up to me, he was running."

Pal, knowing that Pete Whitney was coming toward the cabin, retreated to the far end of the room and stood. Still bristling, he showed his teeth.

Jeff was puzzled.

"What's the--?"

"Something's around," Dan said quickly. He looked out of the window.

"Jeff! Pete Whitney's coming!"

Eyes blazing, he looked toward the shotgun. Jeff saw and interpreted his glance.

"Remember! We're not going off half-c.o.c.ked."

"Uh--All right."

Jeff opened the door and saw the man standing in front of the cabin.

Pete Whitney's clothing was slipshod, but that alone did not give him the air he had. Jeff was not able to place it at once. There was something about him that should not be, something very like a surly animal. About thirty, Pete had fine blond hair that seemed rooted so precariously that the slightest wind might blow it away. His unshaven cheeks were covered with stubble.

Pale blue eyes shifted sideways, and he raised a foot as though about to run. Yet, at the same time, it was as though he had no intention of running. As far as Jeff could see, he carried no firearms, but he acted as though he were armed, and doubtless he was. Mentally, Jeff compared him to the man he had met yesterday. That man had also been careless of his clothing and appearance, but there was a strength and character in his being that was not evident in Pete. Barr Whitney was strong. Pete was weak.

Jeff asked pleasantly, "Something I can do for you?"

"Nao." Pete spoke with a high nasal tw.a.n.g. "You live here?"

"Since yesterday," Jeff said. "Dan and I are here together."

"I swan!" Pete e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I swan!"

Jeff saw that he was obviously frightened. In spite of the fact that he seemed to be a man who would take fright easily, he might need help.

"Are you in trouble?"

"Nao. It's jest that I was pa.s.sin' up the raoad an'--an'--" He blurted out. "I swan I saw Johnny Blazer's big dog!"

Jeff thought swiftly. Why should seeing Johnny Blazer's dog be cause for such alarm? He asked casually, "Where'd you see him?"

"Down thar on the raoad! I swan--a ha'nt dog!"

Jeff understood and relaxed. Many of the mountain people believed firmly in haunts, spirits and witchcraft. And everybody around Smithville had reason to believe that Pal must be dead. With an effort, Jeff concealed his amus.e.m.e.nt. A man such as this, thinking Johnny Blazer's dog dead and coming suddenly upon him, might tremble easily.

"You did see him," Jeff said. "He's here."

"He be?"

For a split second, Pete's eyes lost their lack-l.u.s.ter appearance and venom flooded them. A cold finger brushed Jeff's spine. Any man able to look like that was a dangerous one. Jeff thought of his pack and of the shotgun in its corner. Then he decided that he could handle Pete, and meanwhile there were the amenities to be observed.

"Had breakfast?"

"Nao."

"Come on in and have some."

Pete shuffled into the cabin. Mouth taut and eyes angry, Dan backed toward Pal. The dog growled savagely. Jeff's eyes caught Dan's and he tried to flash a warning. He and Dan had a pact which included no hasty or ill-timed moves and definitely no shooting of anyone. Jeff spoke sharply to the dog.

"Stop it, Pal!"

Pal subsided and Pete said nasally, "Blazer allus call't him Buster."

"He's Pal now."

Jeff set a plate of bacon and eggs on the table and put bread and b.u.t.ter beside it.

"You may as well start, Dan."

Unable completely to erase the anger from his eyes, not speaking, Dan sat down and began to eat. Jeff put the bacon and eggs he had intended for himself on another plate. Thoughtfully he set the plate on the other side of the table, two places away from the furious Dan.

"Here you are, Mr.--?"

"Whitney's the name. Pete Whitney."

"I'm Jeff Tarrant and this is Dan Blazer."

"Yeah?" Interest leaped in Pete's eyes. "Any kin to John?"

"He was my pop!" Dan flared. "That you know very well!"

"Dan, mind your manners!" Jeff remonstrated, putting more bacon and eggs in the skillet.

"I'm minding them! He knows who my pop was and he knows me!"

Pete, who had been eating as though finishing the meal was a job he had to complete in a great hurry, put his fork down and bent over his plate.

Again Jeff thought uncomfortably of a hunted animal, and though he could not see Pete's eyes, he was sure that they were once more venom-ridden.

There was an awkward silence which Pete broke.

"Seems to me I do mind a young'un comin' to see John."

Dan flared again. "Do you also 'mind' that my pop was shot? Maybe you even know who shot him!"

"Dan!" Jeff thundered.