"Three," says Jack. "Split me fore and aft if we've been a day more!"
It was four since that night in the bush.
"You could not build a fort in three days!"
"'Twas half-built when we came."
"Who did that? Is Captain Gillam stealing the Company's furs for Ben?"
"No-o-o," drawled Jack thoughtfully, "it aren't that. It are something else, I can't make out. Master Ben keeps firing and firing and firing his guns expecting some one to answer."
"The Indians with the pelts," I suggested.
"No-o-o," answered Jack. "Split me fore and aft if it's Indians he wants! He could send up river for them. It's some one as came from his father's ship outside Boston when Master Ben sailed for the north and Captain Gillam was agoing home to England with Mistress Hortense in his ship. When no answer comes to our firing, Master Ben takes to climbing the masthead and yelling like a fog-horn and dropping curses like hail and swearing he'll shoot him as fails to keep appointment as he'd shoot a dog, if he has to track him inland a thousand leagues. Split me fore and aft if he don't!"
"Who shoot what?" I demanded, trying to extract some meaning from the jumbled narrative.
"That's what I don't know," says Jack.