"Beckon I'll go home and lock up my pigs, then," declared the old man firmly.
"Oh, it's not as bad as that, sir," hastily added Tad. "My friend, Ned, means anything in the game line. Surely we can be trusted to tell the difference between a bob-cat and a litter of pigs. Stacy Brown, here, knocked out a bobcat with nothing but a club at Beaver Mountain yesterday."
Ben turned to look at Chunky, who, huddled on the ground, appeared not unlike a large, round ball.
"Huh! He ain't much to look at," grunted the old man. "I got a tame cub over to my cabin that would be a good mate for him."
Stacy flushed painfully.
"Mr. Thomas was saying that you might be willing to make some arrangement with us so we could use your dog for a few days," hinted Professor Zepplin.
"Eh! Dogs! Lige Thomas kin have my dogs—I've got two of them now. No arrangement ain't necessary," growled Ben.
"We prefer to pay for them, sir," spoke up Walter. "And perhaps you may be able to tell us, also, where we may hope to find game?"
"Mebby so and mebby not. I'll see Lige about that. Got that cat skin ye was talking about?" he demanded suddenly, looking from one to the other.
Chunky brought it out, the old man examining it critically, nodding his head over some thought of his own.