"Jest buckle this strap around me and the little boy," instructed Jim,
as he gave a wide leather belt to the teamster; "then if I happen for
to need both hands, he won't be able to git a fall."
The strap was adjusted about the two in the manner suggested.
"Good scheme," commented Field, and the others agreed that it was.
Then all the rough and awkward big fellows soberly shook the pretty
little pilgrim's hand in its mitten, and said good-bye to the tiny
chap, who was clinging, as always, to his doll.
"What you goin' to do with Tinterretter?" inquired the teamster as he
looked at the pup, while Jim, with an active swing, mounted to the
saddle.
"Take him along," said Jim. "I'll put him in the sack I've got, and
tie him on behind the saddle when he gits too much of runnin' on foot.
He wouldn't like it to be left behind and Skeezucks gone."
"Guess that's kerrect," agreed the teamster. "He's a bully pup, you
bet."
Poor Miss Doc remained inside the gate. Her one mad impulse was to run
to Jim, clasp him and the grave little waif in her arms, and beg to be
taken on the horse. But repression had long been her habit of life.
She smiled, and did not even speak, though the eyes of the fond little
pilgrim were turned upon her in baby affection.
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