They knew well what was their business there, and that they kept strictly in mind.

Fido, on the other hand, who loved to roam the woods in an aimless hunt for any and every wild thing that might cross his nose, but who never had seriously hunted anything in particular, trotted good-naturedly behind Hughie with rather a bored expression on his face.
The trail, which had led them steadily north, all at once turned west and away from the swamp.
"Say," said Don, "he's making for Alan Gorrach's cabin." "Man!" said Hughie, "that would be fine, to get him there.

It's good and open, too." "Too open by a long way," grunted Don.

"We'd never get him there." Sure enough, the dogs led up from the swamp and along the path to Alan's cabin.

The door stood open, and in answer to Don's "Horo!" Alan came out.
"What now ?" he said, glowering at Don.
"You won't be wanting any dogs to-day, Alan ?" said Don, politely.
Alan glanced at him suspiciously, but said not a word.
"These are very good dogs, indeed, Alan." "Go on your ways, now," said Alan.
"These black ones are not in very good condition, but Fido there is a good, fat dog." Alan's wrath began to rise.
"Will you be going on, now, about your business ?" "Better take them, Alan, there's a hard winter coming on." "Mac an' Diabhoil!" cried Alan, in a shrill voice, suddenly bursting into fury.