“If I hadn’t done so,” returned Hooker, still feeling slightly resentful, “I’d probably blown your head off. I was following a partridge. Did you see one fly across the road a short time ago?”
“No, I didn’t; but I haven’t been here more than four or five minutes—perhaps not that long.”
The man had a pleasant, agreeable face, and Hooker thought that, were he shaved and better dressed, he would be a rather good-looking chap. Apparently he had not wholly recovered from the start which the sight of the armed boy had given him, for he was still a bit nervous and uneasy.
“Maybe,” said Roy, “it took me longer than I thought to follow that old bird to this point. Perhaps she flew across the road before you came along.”
“Are you alone?” asked the man.
“I’m with a friend. He’s back in the woods somewhere with his dog.”
“Of course you live near here?”
“Yes, in Oakdale.”
The man seemed interested. “Oakdale; that’s a small town near by, isn’t it?”
“You must be a total stranger in these parts,” said Roy, as he stepped out into the road. “Oakdale is not more than three or four miles from here. It’s a country village.” He was wondering if the man could be a tramp, but closer inspection made this seem quite improbable, despite the stranger’s rough clothes and somewhat shabby appearance.