Tom was so astounded that he could say nothing in reply. Matt Coyle was a great deal worse than he thought he was. The squatter saw that his solitary auditor was interested, and went on to tell of another way in which he could break up the business of guiding in the wilderness about Indian Lake, in case the people living there didn’t treat him and his family as well as Matt thought they ought to be treated.
“Or s’pos’n there wasn’t no childern into the party,” said he. “There’d be fine guns an’ fish poles an’ lots of nice grub, in course; an’ couldn’t I slip up to their camp when there wasn’t no body there to watch it, an’ tote some of them guns an’ things off into the bresh an’ hide ’em? Oh, there’s plenty of ways to bust up guidin’ an’ them big hotels along with it. They would think twice before bein’ too rough on me, ’cause they know me up there to Injun Lake.”
And the man might have added that that was the very reason they drove him away from there—because they knew him.
“But the trouble is, I ain’t got no boat of my own to run about with. The punt, she’s too heavy, an’ I ain’t got no other,” continued Matt Coyle; and then he stopped and looked hard at Tom, and Tom, in return, looked hard at Matt. An idea came into his head; or, to speak more in accordance with the facts, Tom suddenly recalled some words which the squatter had let fall at the beginning of their interview.
“You said you were on your way to the pond to pick out a boat when you met me,” said Tom. “Well, why don’t you go ahead and get it? There is one among them that will just suit your purpose. It is a canvas canoe. It is very light, and you can pack it across a four mile portage without any trouble at all. If you don’t want to do that, you can take it to pieces and carry it in your hand as you would a grip-sack. It will hold up eight hundred pounds, and you can’t over-turn it by rocking it from side to side.”
“Who belongs to it?” inquired Matt, who had never heard of such a craft before.
“Joe Wayring; and his father is one of the Mount Airy trustees. Your house was on his land, and if Mr. Wayring had said the word, you might have been living happily there now, with plenty to do in the way of boating and guiding and with money in your pocket,” said Tom, hoping that this reference to Mr. Wayring and the influence he might have exerted in Matt’s behalf, if he had seen fit to do so, would make the squatter angry, and awaken in him a desire to be revenged on the son since he could not harm the father in any way. The plan succeeded admirably. Matt laid his rifle on the ground so that he could shake both his fists, and the oaths and threats he uttered when he had thus relieved himself of all incumbrance, were frightful to hear. He did not yell, as he would like to have done, for he knew that the boys who had gone in pursuit of the bear were not far away; but he hissed out the words between his clenched teeth, and kicked and trampled down the bushes in his rage.
“I’d take the boat now, even if I knowed it wouldn’t be of no use to me,” said he, as soon as he could speak. “It’ll cost ole man Wayring five an’ mebbe twenty dollars to buy him another—”
“More than that,” said Tom. “A good deal more.”
“Wal, it’ll be jest that much out of his pocket whatever it is,” answered Matt Coyle. “Where did you say them boats was?”