“And there was a lot of him.”
“There was. You wouldn’t start any trouble?”
“No, no, I won’t hurt him. Just tell me which way he went.”
“I’m not worried about your hurting him. He’s much more likely to hurt you. Powerful build, that boy. Once knew a stoker built like him ― could bend a coal shovel. That was in the old Susie Belle, beating up to Alaska―”
“You sound as if you know him.”
“Know him? I darned well ought to. He’s my grandson. There he is!” cried the hunter.
“Where?”
But it was only the fifth butterfly, and the little old man hopped between two bushes and was gone.
Ellery was morosely studying the last footprint in the trail when Laurel poked her head cautiously into the clearing.
“There you are,” she said with relief. “You scared the buttermilk out of me. What happened?”