"Then how can you claim they're yours?"
"I bought and paid for them and the swamp's private property."
"Well," the trooper shrugged, "when somebody starts stealing them, you come see us."
Andy turned dejectedly away. If it were a hoard of gold or jewels in his swamp, the trooper would have understood instantly and taken the proper steps to protect it. The boy grinned wryly. Doubtless the trooper thought he was a harmless crackpot and was even now congratulating himself on being rid of him so easily.
Andy went to see the official whom he had planned to consult from the first. Joe Wilson, the district game warden, was old and would give way to a younger man soon, but he was wise in the ways of the hills and he knew the hillmen as few townspeople did. Andy came to his house, knocked and was admitted by Lois, the pleasant-faced daughter who kept house for Joe.
"Why hello, Andy. Goodness! It's been a while since we've seen you. Do come in."
"Is your dad home, Lois?"
"In his study. Go right in."
There was a pang in her voice, for there had been a time when no daylight hours, and frequently few night hours, would have found Joe Wilson behind his desk. Now, when he went into the hills at all, it was only to those places which could be reached by car. Lean as a weasel, the way he had spent his life was written in his seamed face and wise eyes. Storms and sun and wind had marked his face, age and experience had implanted the wisdom in his eyes. He swung on his worn swivel chair to face Andy.
"Hi, young feller."