So Thad explained how they had engaged a pair of guides, both of whom had disappointed them, one by getting sick, and the other in taking up with a couple of big-horn sportsmen.
“But we heard of a man up here somewhere,” Thad went on, “who’d been logger, trapper, timber cruiser and everything; and people said that if we could only run across Toby Smathers, and he took the job, we’d have a guide worth any two men.”
“What’s thet? Toby Smathers, did ye say?” demanded the other, that crafty look coming into his face again.
“Yes, that was the name; do you happen to know him?” asked Giraffe, eagerly.
“Reckons now, as none o’ ye ever run acrost Toby; air thet right?” asked the man.
“We never have,” replied Thad.
The fellow laughed harshly.
“Thet shore is a fack,” he went on to say. “Jest think o’ it, Pierre Laporte, they’s askin’ o’ me ef I ever run acrost Toby Smathers? Ain’t thet a good joke, though? I’ve kerried a few names in my day, younkers, an’ Toby Smathers be one o’ ’em.”
“Oh! then you’re the very man we’ve been looking for, eh?” but while Thad uttered this sentiment, there did not seem to be any great amount of enthusiasm in his manner, Allan thought.
“He believes the fellow lies; and I just know it,” Allan was saying to himself.