But Levi, shrewd woodsman that he was, fared better.
“I larned Chip’s gone off with old McGuire,” he asserted with a quiet smile when they were well away, “an’ that Pete’s swearin’ murder agin him.”
“And how?” responded Martin, in astonishment. “I felt that silence was golden with that surly chap, and didn’t ask a question.”
“I’m glad,” rejoined Levi. “I wanted to tell you not to, and I’ve larned all we want. Children are easy to pump, an’ I did it ’thout wakin’ a hint o’ ’spicion. Tim’s folks all believe Chip’s gone with her dad. Pete thinks so, an’ is watchin’ for him with a gun, I ’spect, an’ if so, the sooner they meet, the better.”
It was gratifying news to Martin, and when the other canoe was reached, the two again pushed on, with Martin, at least, feeling that the ways of Fate might prove acceptable.
Three days more were consumed in reaching the lake now owned by him, for the river was low, carries had to be made around two rapids, and when at last the sequestered, forest-bordered sheet of water was being crossed, Martin wished some titanic hand might raise an impassable barrier about his possessions.
Old Cy’s joy at their return was almost hilarious. To a man long past the spasmodic exuberance of youth, loving nature and the wild as few do, the six months here with the misanthropic old hermit, then a month of more cheerful companionship, followed by the departure of Martin and Angie, made this forest home-coming doubly welcome.
But Chip’s appearance, and the somewhat thrilling episode of her escape from Tim’s Place and her rescue, astonished him. Like all old men who are childless, a young girl and her troubles touched a responsive chord in his heart, and on the instant Chip’s unfortunate condition found sympathy. Her bluntly told story, with all its details, held him spellbound. He laughed over her description of spites, and when she seemed hurt at this seeming levity, he assured her that spites were a reality in the woods–he had seen hundreds of them. It was not long ere he had won her confidence and good-will, as he had Ray’s, and then he took Martin aside.
“That gal’s chaser’s bin here ’bout a week ago,” he said, “an’ the worst-lookin’ cuss I ever seen. I know from his description ’twas him. He kept quizzin’ me ez to how long we’d been here, if I knew McGuire, or had seen him lately, until I got sorter riled ’n’ began to string him. I told him finally that I’d been foolin’ all ’long; that McGuire was a friend o’ mine; that he’d been here a day or two afore, borrowed some money ’n’ lit out fer Canada, knowin’ there was a bad man arter him. Then this one-eyed gazoo got mad, real mad, ’n’ said things, an’ then he cleared out.”
When Martin explained the situation, as he now did, Old Cy chuckled.