"Do that land belong to the railroad?" There was a slight note of alarm in the Swede's voice.
"It does now, Oscar," Marvin replied, throwing some paper and wood into the stove and lighting it; "but I sold the timber a long time before the railroad got the property, and I'm trying to save the timber for the man who bought it from me."
"Oh!" The Swede turned toward the door, as if to go. "Bane they arrest you for that?"
"Not unless they find me!" Marvin chuckled.
"An' me an' the boys—can they arrest oos?"
"No, Oscar," Marvin laughingly reassured him. "You fellows are working for me and you are not supposed to know anything about my affairs."
"Oh!" The Swede gave a satisfied nod of his head. "I see—you know that from—from your books." He jerked his thumb toward a table in the corner on which some law-books stood.
"Yes," said Marvin, looking into the coffee-pot. "Anyhow, you'll be gone in the morning. The job's done, thanks to you and the boys."
The lumberjack stood for a moment, nodding his red head; then he turned slowly and went out.
Marvin put the coffee-pot on the stove, watched it a minute, and then sank thoughtfully into the shabby but comfortable arm-chair at the end of his reading-table—which also served as a dining-table. He sat there for several minutes—until the coffee, boiling over on the stove, brought him out of his reverie and to his feet. At the same moment he caught the sound of remote but high words coming from that part of his land where the recently cut timber was stacked.