"Where do the preserves end and where do they begin?" demanded Tad shrewdly.
The mountaineer hesitated. For the moment he appeared confused. Then he made answer.
"I reckon a few miles this side of Hunt's Corners and on to the other side of old Smoky Bald."
"Nonsense!" exploded Butler. "I don't believe it."
"Quiet, Tad," rebuked the Professor.
"Say, you Mister Man, we don't talk business on Sunday," spoke up Stacy. "Come around tomorrow morning and we'll talk to you during business hours and give you all the talk you want, with a little something else it you are looking for trouble. I guess you're another of those bad men from Smoky Creek, and the further up you get the worse they are."
The face of the officer turned white with anger.
"I agree with the young man," nodded the Professor. "You may call here tomorrow morning, stranger. We shall be here until nine o'clock, after which we shall no doubt be on our way toward Smoky Bald, provided we do not change our minds. By that time we shall be in a position to talk more intelligently with you and perhaps you on your part will be able to converse more courteously. Good-day."
The Professor uttered the words with more than his usual firmness. Always firm and decisive in his manner of speaking, the present utterance was calculated to impress him to whom it was directed.
The supposed officer started, shifted his gun, then rose angrily.