The other dark-faced fellow seemed pleased to his old friend, and immediately gripped the extended hand.
“Guess ther putty well up thar, Jim; an’ no need o’ my askin’ how ye be’n, ’cause yer lookin’ prime,” he remarked; and then suddenly an expression akin to dismay flashed across his weather-beaten face, as he continued: “By the same token I got er message fur ye, Jim, in case I run up agin ye on my way down to Squawpan, where I gotter meet a party that’s bound up huntin’. Ye won’t like to hear it, neither, I kinder guess, ’cause it’s from a feller ye got no use for.”
“Cale Martin?” burst involuntarily from the lips of Jim Hasty, while his face turned a shade whiter under its coat of tan.
“Ther same critter,” Hen went on. “He’s still runnin’ things to suit hisself up thar around the Eagle chain, an’ larfin’ at all ther game wardens in Aroostook county ter stop him ahavin’ his way.”
“Why should he tell yuh anything tuh say tuh me; an’ how’d he know I was acomin’ up this aways?” asked Jim, firmly.
“He sez as how he heerd thet you was agoin’ to bring a pack o’ boys along up to the Eagles; p’raps it kim in a letter he hed from somebody, I don’t know jest how thet mout be; but he seemed to know it, all right, Jim. Sez he to me, ‘Hen, ef ye happens to run acrost thet thar measly little skunk what sails by the name o’ Jim Hasty, jest you tell him fur me thet if he dares to put his foot up hyar in my deestrick, I’m bound to pin his ears to a tree, and leave ’em thar to give him a lesson.’ An’ Jim, I guess from the look he had on thet black face ob his’n when he says thet, Cale meant it, every blessed word. And if ’twas me, I’d feel like turnin’ back, to take my people another way.”
Thad fixed his eyes on Jim’s face to see how the shorter guide took it. He realized that Jim was at least no coward, even though he might fear the wrath of such a forest bully as the ex-logger, and present lawless poacher Cale Martin; for he had shut his teeth hard together, and there was a grim expression on his face, as if he did not mean to knuckle under to any such base threat as that.
CHAPTER III.
THE MAKER OF FIRES.
“How about that, Jim; must we turn around, and go back, just because this feller that thinks he owns the whole north of Maine, says so?” asked Giraffe; who was really a fearless sort of lad, and could not bear to be ordered around by a bully.