The first log cabin they had seen since entering the wood nestled among the scrub oaks of the hill hard by. The front wall of the hut was literally covered with the pegged-up skins of foxes, raccoons and what were described to Kenneth as the hides of "linxes," but which, in reality, were from the catamount. A tall, bewhiskered man, smoking a corncob pipe, leaned upon the rail fence, regarding the strangers with lazy interest.
Kenneth drew rein and inquired how far it was to Lafayette.
"'Bout two mile an' a half," replied the man. "My name is Stain, Isaac Stain. I reckon you must be Mister Kenneth Gwynne. I heerd you'd be along this way some time this mornin'."
"I suppose Mr. Lapelle informed you that I was coming along behind," said Kenneth, smiling.
"'Twuzn't Barry Lapelle as told me. I hain't seen him to-day."
"Didn't he pass here within the hour?"
"Nope," was the laconic response.
"I met him back along the road. He was coming this way."
"Must 'a' changed his mind."
"He probably took another road."