And he took down his hands. Two other men came out of the big tent—rough lumbermen both of them.
“Better wake up the boss and tell him we’ve caught some spy prowlin’ round here, that says he owns the camp,” said Tom’s captor.
One of the men went over to the smaller tent. There was a sound of voices; a few minutes elapsed. Then a man came hastily out, carrying a flashlight, and Tom recognized Harrison, as he had expected.
But Harrison was far from expecting the meeting. He turned the light on Tom as he came up, and started. For several seconds there was silence, while the flashlight wavered.
“I didn’t expect to see you back here, Jackson,” said Harrison at last, in his usual easy tone. “I thought you’d gone for good. I only wished you’d taken that young Ojibway with you. He’s been—”
“I guess you didn’t expect to see me,” retorted Tom hotly. “You thought I was dead up in the woods, didn’t you? McLeod did his best. You tried to burn me out, and you tried to murder me, and now you come in and steal—”
“Hold on! That’s a pretty rough way to talk,” Harrison interrupted him. “You must be crazy. Here, if you’ve got anything to say to me, come along to my tent.”
Tom, boiling with indignation, was conducted to Harrison’s sleeping-tent, where the man turned on an electric lantern, and sat down on the cot-bed from which he had lately arisen.
“You’ve got no kick coming at all,” Harrison resumed. “I made you a proposition to get out, right at the start, even though you had no particular rights here. I discovered this walnut before you thought of looking for it—”
“And then you tried to burn me out, and you sent McLeod to kill me in the woods.”