“I don't see what that has to do with you,” Wilkinson answered coolly.
“The logs in the pond are ours.”
Wilkinson looked amused and Charnock tried to control his temper. He would gain nothing by using force, and thought the other meant to give him no excuse for doing so.
“You don't imagine I meant to steal your logs!” Wilkinson rejoined. “They're too large to carry away, and there's no sawmill to buy them if I sent them down the river.”
“That's obvious,” said Charnock, who thought it prudent not to hint that he had seen the fellow lurking about the pond before. For that matter, he was not certain he had seen Wilkinson.
“You're much more suspicious than you were when I first knew you,” Wilkinson resumed in a mocking tone.
“I was a confiding fool then and trusted my friends. It cost me something.”
“And now you're afraid to let anybody pass your logs in the dark? Well, caution's useful, but it can be overdone.”
“Why did you want to pass the pond?”
“For one thing, because it's the easiest way of getting from the smithy to the track; then this piece of hillside doesn't belong to you. However, as I guess you don't claim it, you no doubt reckoned I meant to play you some shabby trick; turn your logs adrift, for example?”