"I have seen him somewhere before; do not trust him."
"Imagination, my dear Eben, pure imagination. The man is a French Canadian."
The man had stood on one side, apparently taking no notice of the whispered conversation, but a close observer would have seen that he was watching through the corner of his eye every movement, and if he could read the lips, as so many of his countrymen could, he doubtless knew what was being said.
"Will the monsieur come and see the skins?" he asked.
"Yes; lead on."
The man led the way and Allen and his little band followed.
Many times the guide turned round to see if all were following.
A dense wood lay right before them, and the prospect did not seem very inviting, though no danger could come to them, seeing that they were six in all, and the Frenchman was alone.
"Where are you taking us?" Allen asked.
"To where the skins are."