"An', besides," Zeke went on, "ye was a-sayin' as how the dawg kind o' felt I belonged to him like, bein' he he'ped pull me out o' the ocean, an' so he had to like me. Thet-thar argyment goes fer you-all, too, mum. So, I 'low ye gotter fergive me--specially kase yer dawg begun hit."
Josephine relaxed with a ripple of laughter. The mountaineer both interested and pleased her. To her inevitable interest in one whom she had helped to save from death, there was now added a personal attraction. She perceived, with astonishment, that this was by no means the hulking brute she had deemed him when her pet had suffered at his hands. The dog's attitude toward him impressed her deeply. Moreover, she saw that he was intelligent, as well as naïve. She perceived that he had humor and quickness of feeling. His responsiveness to the dog's advances pleased her. She was greedy of experience and knowledge, easily bored by familiar things, likely to be vastly interested, for a brief season, in the new and strange. She realized that here, ready to her hand, was a type wholly novel. She felt that it was her prerogative to understand something of the nature of this singular being thus cast at her feet by fate. Certainly, it would be absurd to cherish any rancor. As he had said, the dog's action sufficed. Besides, she must be friendly if she would learn concerning this personality. Every reason justified inclination. She rebelled no longer. Her blue eyes gleamed with genuine kindliness, as she spoke: "I'll take Chubbie's word for it." Her voice became authoritative. "Now, if you feel equal to standing up, we'll have this rain-coat on you, and then run you down to the yacht. We'll attend to landing you somewhere after you've rested and had something to eat."
Already Josephine's brain was busy, scheming to her own ends, but of this she gave no hint.
Zeke pushed away the reluctant dog, and rose up stiffly. The stimulation of the brandy stood him in good stead.
"I 'low I'm havin' a right-smart lot of experience," he remarked, chuckling. "What with steam-cars, an' boats, an' wrecks, an' now one o' them ornery devil-wagons. I hain't a-feared none," he added, musingly, "but I hain't a-pinin' neither. I reckon I kin stand anythin' what gals an' a dog kin. I'm plumb nervous or hungry--I don't know which. Both, like's not!"
He rejected the offer of support, and walked firmly enough to the machine, which he eyed distrustfully. Florence took the rear seat, and Zeke established himself beside Josephine, the dog between his feet. After the first few minutes, he found himself delighting in this smooth, silent rush over the white sands. In answer to Josephine's question, he gave a bare outline of his adventures in the three days of his absence from the mountains.