Garry asked what the other side of the river was like and if the woodland extended for many miles in both directions.
“On the upper side is the State Forest reserve, well patrolled by Rangers, while to the south is wild land that has not been cut for years,” said the hotel man.
“There was some talk of cutting there last winter, and then they decided to hold up till a track could be laid and the logs hauled to the river on flat cars to save time. In that way they could begin cutting at the far side and work toward the river. A party of surveyors laid out the proposed track, and they even laid about a half a mile of track. Then the owner died—name was Hasbrouck, I think—and his estate got tied up in the courts, and the work on the road was stopped. Now there’s no one around there. Once in a great while a camping party goes in there, but it isn’t popular except during the deer season, because of its wild growth, lots of ravines and rocky places.”
This long explanation was given Garry by the hotel owner, and Garry mentally decided that if LeBlanc had come there—and this was likely if the tramp’s words were true—this would be the section he would go to. The halfbreed would probably keep away from the Forest Reserve, with the chance of running across a Ranger.
Asking if the general store was open, and receiving an affirmative reply, Garry got directions for reaching it and set out. He knew that in all New England villages, the general store is the hangout for most of the men after nightfall, and here was the best place to get any likely gossip.
Garry found a half dozen men gathered inside, watching a checker game between two old men who were evidently the crack players of the village.
He made two or three minor purchases, mostly to get into conversation with the storekeeper.
The owner himself was there, and after he had sized up Garry’s attire, asked in true Yankee fashion:
“Come from the city?”
“Some little time ago,” answered Garry, “if you can call living only a few miles from Portland being from the city.”