THE BLACK FOX SKIN
"Any one but me been using tobacco in here lately?" he asked.
"Not that I know of," replied Sally.
He made no comment, but continued his search. At last he put down the lamp and resumed his chair, shaking a shred or two of something from his fingers.
"Well?" questioned Mrs. Rone.
"A cool hand," said November. "When he'd got the skin, he stopped to fill his pipe. It was then he dropped the cartridge; it came out of his pocket with the pipe, I expect. All that I can tell you about him is that he smokes 'Gold Nugget'"—he pointed to the shreds—"and carries a small-bore make of English rifle. . . . Hello! where's the old bitch?"
"Old Rizpah? I dunno, less she's gone along to Scats's place. Ruby'd take her if she could, she's that scairt of the woods; but Rizpah's never left Danny before."
Joe drained his cup. "We've not found much inside the house," said he. "As soon as the sun's up, we'll try our luck outside. Till then I guess we'd best put in a doze."
Mrs. Rone made up a shake-down of skins
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