"Jake Brewer," was the unsteady response.
"What's your business?"
"I ain't got no real business," replied the other apologetically. "I fishes an' hunts an' things like that."
"A squatter—eh?"
"Yep, I air a squatter all right," Jake admitted, "but I air a decent man, an' allers been decent. I don't do nothin' I hadn't ought to."
"Who's sayin' you do?" snapped Burnett. "Now, I want to ask you a few questions. I'm from Auburn Prison, and if you lie to me, I'll put you where the dogs won't bite you.... Do you get me?"
Jake's jaw dropped, but he stood still, and looked at the officer anxiously.
"Yep, I get ye," he returned submissively, "an' I ain't a goin' to lie to ye nuther.... What do ye want?"
Burnett's fierce eyes bent a compelling glance on the man in the road.
"How many squatters 're living down by the lake?" he demanded harshly.