“Oh, thar are plenty of them har, but folks have been warned ter keep erway from Dugan’s, and they know better’n ter go agin’ any warnin’ frum him, you bet!”
The others nodded and grunted, wagging their jaws over the tobacco they were industriously chewing.
“It’s strange!” said Frank.
“If you’ll take my advice, young feller,” said an old man with one eye that squinted, while the other stared, “you’ll keep clear of Dugan’s.”
Again there was more nodding and grunting.
“Why?” asked Frank.
“Waal, ter be plain with yer, Dugan don’t think much of the young fellers what git ter runnin’ arter his gal. He’s nigh kilt several on’ em.”
“That’s so,” said some of the others.
“Thar was that summer dude that kem up hyer from Bangor last y’ar,” the old man with the squint eye went on. “Why, Dugan ketched him, tied him ter a tree, an’ nigh beat him ter death with birch withes. Ther feller was sick fer two month arter that.”
“An’ then there was that Vanceborough chap,” said another. “The gal uster meet him till Dugan got onter it. When he found it aout, he laid for ’em, an’ ketched ’em. He broke one of the feller’s arms with a club an’ laid his head open. That cooked that feller, you bet!”