“Look a-yere!” he yelled, as he leaned his rifle up in one corner and approached the place where Tom was sitting. “What ye bin a-snoopin’ round out thar in the timber fur to-day? Don’t be long in speakin’ up, kase this hickory is gettin’ heavy, an’ it will have to drop somewhar purty soon!”
Tom was surprised, and greatly alarmed besides. He was alarmed by the expression of almost ungovernable fury he saw in the wolfer’s face, and surprised to learn that his movements had been so readily detected, after all the pains he had taken to cover his trail.
But there was nothing surprising in that, for if he had carefully examined his trail he would have seen that there were the prints of two boot heels in each one of the tracks that had been made by the wolfer’s moccasined feet.
“What ye bin a-pokin’ yer nose into my business fur?” shouted Lish, making the switch whistle as he whirled it around his head. “What made you go out an’ hunt up them skins?”
“What made you hide them?” asked Tom, as soon as he could speak. “It looks as though you were trying to rob me of my share. Some of those skins belong to me.”
“I hid ’em kase I aint a-goin’ to have ye slip inter the camp when I aint here, an’ go off to find yer brother.”
“If my brother was anywhere within reach of me it would take a better man than you to keep me here,” was the thought that passed through Tom’s mind.
But he knew better than to give utterance to it.
“Thar don’t none of them pelts b’long to ye, an’ I don’t want ye to fergit it, nuther!” exclaimed Lish. “Ye haven’t pizened a dozen varmints since we come to this yere place.”
“That’s because I can’t do all the work about camp and put out baits too,” replied Tom. “If you will cut the wood I’ll do the cooking and catch as many skins as you do into the bargain.”