"Likely. He's got thin feet."
"I think I'd better go after them," said Smith, reflectively.
"They'll plug you, you poor jackass — two o' them like that, and one a-settin' up to watch out. Hell! Be you tired o' bed an' board?"
Smith smiled: "Don't you worry, Mike."
"Why? You think you're that smart? Jest becuz you stuck up a tourist you think you're cock o' the North Woods — with them two foxes lyin' out for to snap you up? Hey? Why, you poor dumb thing, Jake runs Canadian hootch for a livin'; and Leverett's a trap thief! What could you do with a pair o' foxes like that?"
"Catch 'em," said Smith, coolly. "You mind your business, Mike."
As he shouldered his rifle and started into the marsh, Clinch dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder; but the young man shook it off.
"Shut up," he said sharply. "You've a private war on your hands. So have I. I'll take care of my own."
"What's your grievance?" demanded Clinch, surprised.
"Jake Kloon played a dirty trick on me."