“I’d like mighty well to have the grub,” was the squatter’s answer. “We don’t see nothin’ good to eat from one year’s end to another’s.”
To Matt’s great surprise and joy Tom said—
“You may have the grub. I can get more at the hotel. There is an old blanket that you can have to wrap it up in. Now look here: Are you going to follow Wayring to No-Man’s Pond?”
“You’re mighty right, I am,” said Matt, emphatically.
“I don’t know whether or not you will find him there,” Tom went on. “But if you do don’t mention my name. Don’t let him even suspect that you have seen me this vacation. Don’t refer to me in any way; do you hear?”
“Do you reckon I’ve got a pair of ears?”
“I reckon you have; and I can see for myself that they are big enough for two men. If I were in your place, I would dig out of this country and never come back.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ of doin’ it,” said Matt.
“The whole region is in arms against you, and it is a mystery to me how you have kept out of the clutches of the law as long as you have. But if they don’t catch you before they will surely catch you when the first snow comes. Mark that. They will track you down as they would a mink.”
“Don’t I know that?” exclaimed Matt, growing red in the face with anger. “When the snow comes we’ll have to stick clost to camp, for if we go out we shall leave a trail that can be easy follered. But what’ll we do when our grub is all gone?”