The other glared at him in sudden wrath. " Damn it all, man! I know my own mind and what's best! " "I'm agreein' with you, only . . ."
"Only what?" Scott snapped out.
"Only . . ." the dog-musher began softly, then changed his mind and betrayed a rising anger of his own. "Well, you needn't get so all-fired het up about it. Judgin' by your actions one 'd think you didn't know your own mind."
Weedon Scott debated with himself for a while, and then said more gently: "You are right, Matt. I don't know my own mind, and that's what's the trouble."
"Why, it would be rank ridiculousness for me to take that dog along," he broke out after another pause.
"I'm agreein' with you," was Matt's answer, and again his employer was not quite satisfied with him.
"But how in the name of the great Sardanapalus he knows you're goin' is what gets me," the dog-musher continued innocently.
"It's beyond me, Matt," Scott answered, with a mournful shake of the head.
Then came the day when, through the open cabin door, White Fang saw the fatal grip on the floor and the loveemaster packing things into it. Also, there were comings and goings, and the erstwhile placid atmosphere of the cabin was vexed with strange perturbations and unrest. Here was indubitable evidence.
