Mr. Cantor laughed.
"Why he took me to his crazy shanty and handed me coffee. And he talked. My, how he talked."
"Did he know you were—prospecting?"
There was no lack of interest in Bull now. His steady eyes were alight, as he watched the stewards moving amongst the tables, setting the place straight for the night.
"Yes. I told him."
Cantor's dark eyes were questioning. As Bull remained silent he went on.
"Why? Is he interested for the Skandinavia to keep folk out?"
Bull shook his head.
"No. It isn't that. He's a queer feller. No, I'd say he's got just one concern in life. It's the boys. But you're right, he knows the whole thing—the whole game of lumbering in Eastern Canada. And if he told you and warned you, I'd say it was for your good as he saw it. No. He's no axe to grind, and though you found him on the Skandinavia's territory, I don't think he likes them. I'm sure he doesn't. Still, he's not concerned for any employer. He just comes and goes handing out his dope to the boys, and—You know the forest-jacks. They're a mighty tough proposition. Well, it's said they feel about Father Adam so if a hair of his head was hurt they'd get the feller who did it, and they'd cut the liver out of him, and pass what was left feed for the coyotes."
Mr. Cantor nodded.