"You know my line," he said to Owen. "It's a cut like this." He showed them with a pencil. "All the timber this side of that line is mine."
The two young lumbermen went on horseback, each carrying a shot-gun, hoping to bag some game on the trip. The mud and the water running along every tiny watercourse did not daunt them, and each was in the best of spirits.
"Our ride will take us close to Pine Tree Lake," said Dale, as they pushed on. "If we find everything O.K., let us go to the lake and take a look at the fine lodge belonging to Mr. Jefferson Wilbur."
"I'm willing, if it doesn't take too long, Dale."
"Of course the lodge is locked up now, but perhaps there is a caretaker there who will show us through. Or, if there isn't, we can look around the outside and through the stables anyway."
The young lumbermen kept their eyes wide open for game, and succeeded in getting half a dozen birds of good size. But nothing else appeared, much to their disappointment.
It lacked an hour of noon when they reached the row of firs marking the boundary of the Paxton claim. The blazes on the trees were plainly to be seen, and they followed the line from end to end without much trouble.
"Nobody has cut any timber here," was Owen's comment. "Some hunters have cut down some firewood, but that is all. It's a false alarm."
"And we've had the journey for nothing," added Dale. "But I've enjoyed the trip, haven't you?"
"I should enjoy it more if we could spot some good game."