The Main Street bridge was an old-fashioned, wooden, covered one, dust-colored and very narrow, squarely framing the fair, open country beyond;for the town had never crossed the river.
Joe found the cool shadow in the bridge gracious to his hot brow, and through the slender chinks of the worn flooring he caught bright glimpses of running water.When he came out of the other end he felt enough refreshed to light a cigar.
"Well, here I am," he said."Across Main Street bridge--and it must be getting on toward noon!" He spoke almost with the aspect of daring, and immediately stood still, listening.
"`REMEMBER,"' he ventured to repeat, again daring, "`REMEMBER! ACROSS MAIN STREET BRIDGE AT NOON!' "And again he listened.Then he chuckled faintly with relief, for the voice did not return."Thank God, I've got rid of that!" he whispered."And of the circus band too!"A dust road turned to the right, following the river and shaded by big sycamores on the bank;the mongrel, intensely preoccupied with this road, scampered away, his nose to the ground."Good enough," said the master."Lead on and I'll come after you."But he had not far to follow.The chase led him to a half-hollow log which lay on a low, grass-grown levee above the stream, where the dog's interest in the pursuit became vivid; temporarily, however, for after a few minutes of agitated investigation, he was seized with indifference to the whole world; panted briefly; slept.Joe sat upon the log, which was in the shade, and smoked.