This man might be the Lawyer Martin who had been referred to by the farmer. The lawyer, it had been stated, was apt in private theatricals and of pleasing personality. This man was disguised so far as clothing went, and his conversation showed that he was tactful and understood how to keep on the right side of the men with whom he mingled.
The more the boy studied over the problem, the more certain he became that the man who was handling the unlawful enterprise, designing to keep the Fontenelles out of their rights stood before him.
Presently Lawyer Martin, if it was he, turned a pair of keen yet half-humorous eyes in the direction of the boy.
“Did you have a pleasant trip up the river?” he asked.
“Fine!” replied Clay. “Plenty of good sport.”
“If you had asked my advice,” the other said, “you would have proceeded straight up the lakes from Ogdensburg. It would have been safer.”
“If safety was the only thing we figured on when we started away,” the boy answered, “we wouldn’t have started at all. We would have remained at home and gone to bed.”
“You seem to be quite a bright boy,” the other suggested. “Why don’t you give up the map turned over to you by mistake, and go on about your business? That’s what you ought to do.”
“Why don’t you get another map?” asked Clay.
“Because,” was the reply, “the old Indian who made the one you have was drowned on the night he turned it over to you.”