"You think ther'll be two hundred bales, Bill?"
"Darned close on it. The old un's had an all-fired fine crop."
"So much the better. See you make the boat big enough to carry it. Don't let a bale be left behind."
"Yer kin trust me for that. She'll take every bale of it."
"Good. If neatly managed, it'll be one of the finest hauls—. Don't you smell tobacco?"
"Darned if I don't!"
"Somebody's been smoking here! A cigar too. Like enough that strange fellow, or Walt Woodley himself. They've been this way—not a great while ago neither."
For a short time there was silence, and I could tell that the two men had stopped in their track, and were listening.
Now, less than ever, did I care to accost Mr. Bill Black and his companion, who was not Stinger, though who I could not guess. And yet the voice did not seem altogether unfamiliar. I fancied I had heard it before!
I stood still as the tree-trunks around me, and equally motionless. I had already taken the cigar from my teeth, and held it with the coal between my fingers.