This was the first time she had ever
called him that. Lucky dog? You bet he was. They'd go to his shack--and
talk. He drank a third time. He rolled heavily as they entered the hall,
David praying that they would not meet Hauck. He had his victim. He was
sure of him. And the hall was empty. He picked up his gun and pack, and
held to Brokaw's arm as they went out into the night. Brokaw staggered
guidingly into a wall of darkness, talking thickly about lucky dogs.
They had gone perhaps a hundred paces when he stopped suddenly, very
close to something that looked to David like a section of tall fence
built of small trees. It was the cage. He jumped at that conclusion
before he could see it clearly in the clouded starlight. From it there
came a growling rumble, a deep breath that was like air escaping from a
pair of bellows, and he saw faintly a huge, motionless shape beyond the
stripped and upright sapling trunks.
"Grizzly," said Brokaw, trying to keep himself on an even balance. "Big
bear-fight to-morrow, Mac. My bear--her bear--a great fight! Everybody
in to see it. Nothing like a bear-fight, eh? S'prise her, won't
it--pretty little wench! When she sees her bear fighting mine? Betchu
hundred dollars my bear kills Tara!"
"To-morrow," said David.
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