"I--I guess we got to play it square, Chum!" he muttered aloud,
with something like a groan. "I was blattin' to 'em, up there,
how you'd made a white man of me. An' a reg'lar white man don't
keep what ain't his own prop'ty. Come along, Chummie!"

His jaw very tense, his back painfully stiff, Link strode heavily
down the lane and out into the highroad. Chum, always eager for a
walk with his god, frisked about him in delight.

He had traversed the bulk of the distance to Craigswold, the dog
beside him, when he remembered that he had left his horse and
buggy at the livery stable there in the morning. Well, that would
save his aching feet a four-mile walk home. In the meantime--

He and Chum stepped to the roadside to avoid a fast-traveling
little motor car which was bearing down on them from the
direction of Craigswold.

The car did not pass them. Instead, it came to a gear-racking
halt close beside Ferris. Link, glancing up in dull lack of
interest, beheld Gault and the latter's daughter staring down at
him.

"Chum came home," said Ferris, scowling at them. "He trailed me.
Don't lick him fer it! He's only a dog, an' he didn't know no
better. I was bringin' him back to you."

The girl looked sharply at her father. Gault fidgeted uneasily,
as he had done once or twice that afternoon in the clubhouse. And