"The season of the year brings me," was the reply. "I have come here every autumn at this time for more'n fifty years."
"Indeed!" Handsome looked at him with new interest. "Is that true?" he asked.
"I wouldn't have any reason to lie to ye, would I?" asked Nick. "Old Bill Turner hasn't missed a year in fifty years in coming here, Mr. Handsome."
"Then you must know these hills mighty well, eh?"
"I know every inch of 'em; every leaf that falls on 'em, almost. That's the way I know 'em."
"And do you know about the places under the hills as well?"
"Do you mean the caves?"
"I do."
"I know 'em purty well—yes. There is some parts of 'em that nobody knows, I reckon; and while I—well, maybe I don't know all about 'em, and maybe I'd get lost in 'em now; only I don't think so."
"What do you know about that hole up there, under that rock that is shaped like the nose of a dog?"