They passed more tents and trailers, swerved to miss a wild-eyed doe that almost jumped into the truck. Finally, Ted drove thankfully up the Harkness driveway. The house was stocked with everything they needed, and as far as he was concerned, he was willing to stay there until deer season ended. At any rate, he hoped he'd have to do no more night driving. He escorted his guest in, snapped the light on and waited for what he thought was coming next. It came. John Wilson glanced about and he needed no more than a glance. It was enough to tell him what was here and his voice said he liked it. "You do all right for yourself." "Glad you like it. If you'll make yourself at home, I'll have something to eat rustled up in a little while." "Let me help you." "It's a one-man job." John Wilson reclined in an easy chair while Ted went into the kitchen. He put a great slab of butter in a skillet, let it brown, seasoned the brace of woodcock, put them into the pan, covered it and turned the flame lower. He prepared a fresh pot of coffee, biscuits, potatoes and a vegetable. All the while, he waited nervously for Tammie to whine at the door. There'd have to be some nice timing when the collie returned. Ted must slip out, strip the harness off and let the dog in without letting John Wilson know he'd worn a harness. When the meal was ready and Tammie still had not come, Ted's nervousness mounted. The dog was a half hour late already. What could have happened out in the Mahela? Ted put the dinner on the table and tried to sound casual as he announced, "Chow's ready." "This is 'chow'?" John Wilson chided him. "Butter-browned woodcock is deserving of a better name. Let me at it!" He cut a slice of the dark breast and began to eat it. "_Mm-m!_ That's good! Something wrong, Ted?" "Yes--uh--That is, no." "You're nervous as a wet cat." "My dog's out and I'm a little worried about--There he is now! Go right ahead and eat." Tammie's whine sounded again and Ted slipped out the back door. Hastily he knelt to strip the harness off and take Al's note from the pocket. Then he threw the harness aside--he'd get it in the early morning--tucked the note in his pocket and, with Tammie beside him, went into the house. John Wilson stopped eating to admire. "That's a beautiful collie. What's his name?" "Tammie, and he's just as good as he looks." Tammie sniffed delicately at their guest, received a pat on the head and went to stretch out on his bearskin. John Wilson glanced at him again. "Aren't you afraid to let him run?" "After tomorrow, poor Tammie will be confined to quarters until deer season ends." John Wilson nodded. "That's wise, some hunters will shoot at anything. What time do you plan to get out in the morning?" "Whenever you care to leave." "Isn't it traditional for hunters to be in the woods at dawn?" "That's right." "Then let's not violate revered custom. Where do these two big bucks hang out?"