"I think so."
"Tell me something about it, for that is, I think, where I have got to search for the woman we are after."
"There isn't much to tell about it, save that it is wild and uneven; that the formation is limestone, and the timber is largely red oak. The mountains—or hills, rather—are not high, but they are precipitous, rocky, impassable, full of ravines, and gulches, and unexpected depressions, and scattered around through that region there are innumerable caves, too."
"That is bad," said the detective. "It will make it so much the harder to dislodge the hoboes."
"So you have got your work cut out for you this time, and no mistake."
"Could you suggest a competent guide for that region, Mr. Cobalt?"
"Old Bill Turner—if he would go."
"Who is he?"
"An old hunter, who used to take me out with him, and who afterward served as guide for me. But he is an old man now."
"Where does he live?"