“Well, I’m glad of that, because he is not one to be intimate with: he is a thief.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Joe, rather startled.
“Because I happen to know it’s so. I’ll tell you how. I had set a bear-trap once up on the mountain back of my house, and going up next day to see if I had caught anything, I found this fellow busy skinning my bear. He had come upon it by accident, I suppose, and the bear being caught by both front feet, and being therefore perfectly helpless, he had bravely shot it, and was preparing to walk off with the skin when I appeared.”
“And what did you say to him?” I asked.
“Nothing,” replied Peter. “I just sat down on a rock near by, with my rifle across my knees, and watched him; and he grew so embarrassed and nervous and fidgety that he couldn’t stand it any longer, and at last he sneaked off without completing his job and without either of us having said a word.”
“That certainly was a queer interview,” remarked Joe, laughing, “and a most effective way, I should think, of dealing with a blustering rogue like Long John.”
“Long John?” repeated the hermit, inquiringly.
“Yes, Long John Butterfield; known also as ‘The Yellow Pup.’”
“Oh, that’s who it is, is it? I’ve heard of him from my friend, Tom Connor.”