«Ol' Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves,» Bill cogitates aloud. «I ought to know. I shot it out of the pack in a moose pasture over 'on Little Stick. An' Ol' Villan cried like a baby. Hadn't seen it for three years, he said. Ben with the wolves all that time.»

«I reckon you've called the turn, Bill. That wolf's a dog, an' it's eaten fish many's the time from the hand of man.»

«An if I get a chance at it, that wolf that's a dog'll be jes' meat,» Bill declared. «We can't afford to lose no more animals.»

«But you've only got three cartridges,» Henry objected.

«I'll wait for a dead sure shot,» was the reply.

In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to the accompaniment of his partner's snoring.

«You was sleepin' jes' too comfortable for anything,» Henry told him, as he routed him out for breakfast. «I hadn't the heart to rouse you.»

Bill began to eat sleepily. He noticed that his cup was empty and started to reach for the pot. But the pot was beyond arm's length and beside Henry.

«Say, Henry,» he chided gently, «ain't you forgot somethin'?»

Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. Bill held up the empty cup.

«You don't get no coffee,» Henry announced.

«Ain't run out?» Bill asked anxiously.

«Nope.»

«Ain't thinkin' it'll hurt my digestion?»

«Nope.»

A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill's face.

«Then it's jes' warm an' anxious I am to be hearin' you explain yourself,» he said.

«Spanker's gone,» Henry answered.

Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune Bill turned his head, and from where he sat counted the dogs.

«How'd it happen?» he asked apathetically.

Henry shrugged his shoulders. «Don't know. Unless One Ear gnawed 'm loose. He couldn't a-done it himself, that's sure.»