“M-m-m, that coffee smells powerful good,” said the voice, and the boys looked up to see a man standing near them.
“Well, if it isn’t our old friend, the gum hunter,” cried Garry.
And so it was. The gum hunter; meaning a man who made a part of his living by wandering through the woods collecting spruce gum to sell to the drug stores throughout the state, who had made their acquaintance on their previous visit and at that time had given them a tip that stared them on the quest of the smugglers that had ended so successfully.
“Sit in and have pot luck with us,” invited Dick.
“Don’t know but what I will; was getting pretty hungry, and since I was round near, thought I’d come here and fix myself some lunch. Often come here because I can build a campfire at the same place, and generally have a few old branches cut to use. Two or three times I’ve slept here to save bother of going all the way back to town, especially when I wanted an early start in the morning,” said the gum hunter.
They finished their dinner, and were about to clean up, when the gum hunter bade them wait.
“Callate I’ll have to furnish something towards this eatin’,” he told them, and carefully delving into his pack brought forth a flat package. “This is a home-made apple pie, and I hope ’tain’t squashed up much, though I bin carryin’ it since morning. That’ll cut four ways, and make good big pieces. ’Tain’t none of your miserable little bakery pies.”
“Gosh,” said Dick, “that’s just what I need to top off my dinner. Garry, pass the coffeepot.”
“Now what might you boys be doing back here? Setting out to catch more smugglers? Saw Lafe Green in town again last night, and wherever he is there’s bound to be contraband running across the border.”
The boys knew that the old man was reliable and trustworthy, and one who could be relied upon not only to keep a tight mouth about any confidence that was given him, but one who could give sound advice when occasion demanded it.