"Well, no; to tell the truth I had the master of one dog in my mind right then," came the reply, as Maurice entered the cabin to take the Marlin off the hook on the wall. Thad looked a bit thoughtful, but said nothing. Perhaps they were not so very far away from some shanty-boat that had sought refuge in a friendly cove from the gale; and he knew the general habit of these floating people was to harbor at least one dog to each craft, sometimes half a dozen. That gun might come in handy should they find themselves confronted by an angry dog owner, demanding the reason why they had shot his canine property. So they left their home craft, and paddled ashore in the little tender, one at a time. The ax was soon at work, and the chips flying under the lusty strokes of both boys by turns. Thad had been more or less impressed by what his chum said. While Maurice worked with the ax he managed to sit by the fire they had started, seemingly to keep warm, but in reality because the shotgun had been leaned against a neighboring tree. And ordinarily Thad was far from being timid by nature; so that it must have been some sort of prophetic warning that bade him stick to the camp. "Guess we've got about enough, eh, Thad?" demanded the other, as he threw the tool down, and breathing heavily, sat alongside his chum on the convenient log near the blaze. "As much as we can get aboard, anyhow. With night only an hour off the quicker we begin to navigate the better for us. Here goes," and with that Thad started to carry the chopped wood down to where the small boat awaited its cargo. They were busily engaged in doing this, and had really managed to get most of the fuel aboard, with Maurice pulling from the deck of the anchored craft, and his chum doing the work ashore, when Thad heard crunching footsteps above the spot where he crouched. Looking up he saw a bearded face thrust out from the bank; and almost instinctively he knew that the prediction of his companion was about to come true. Was this the owner of the dead brute that lay not more than eighty or one hundred feet away? Thad felt a sudden cold chill. He was certainly not a coward by nature, and had proved this at various times in the past; still, there was an ugly scowl on that red-bearded face that surely stood for new trouble. And Thad was glad that he had insisted upon keeping the gun ashore with him while he performed his end of the duty of transporting the wood to the shanty-boat. He also remembered that it was close beside him, where he could lay a hand on it quickly if need be. Then the man spoke, and his voice was just as disagreeable as his face seemed to be--a heavy rumble with more or less of threat under the surface. "So, here ye be, hey? Wot business hed yer ter shoot up my dawg; tell me that, consarn ye?" Perhaps he said something much stronger than the concluding words; but that does not matter.