The brawny logger had an ax, with a small bundle suspended from the same, slung over his shoulder. He stopped and waited for them to come up, when he nodded his head in salutation.
“You’re The McNab, I take it,” he remarked, addressing the driver of the shaggy ponies. “I’m one of the Sawyer bunch over on the river ten miles away. On my way back home; wife down with a fever and the kids need me. Get up later on if all goes well. What sort of a crowd are you taking up into the bush this time, Tammis? Seems like a young outfit for such big game hunting.”
“Oh! ay, so it does,” replied the driver, quickly; “but these braw laddies hae seen muckle mair o’ such business than most men that come up this way. They weel know how to tak care o’ themselves, nae doot. What are the chances for game this season; and do ye know o’ anny ither parties in the bush?”
“I hear there are moose aplenty this year,” the logger replied, as he filled his pipe from the bag of tobacco McNab held out to him; “and so far I’ve only heard tell o’ one party o’ sportsmen along these parts. They’re camped nigh the Hogback on Cranberry Creek.”
“Seems to me I heard talk aboot the Baylay coming back to his old haunts again. They did say he had reformed, but, mon, they leed, fo’ that de’il would never be annything but the toughest man in all the Saguenay region, though he lived to a hundred.”
“Yes, they say it’s true, and one of our crew ran across him,” the logger returned, with a frown, and a shake of the head. “He is still nursing a broken head; and bore the word from Baylay that if any other loggers tried to take the quarrel up they knew where to find him.”
“Oh, ay, he never hides his light under a bushel, mon. And I only hope that the laddies here will not run a foul of the braggart while they are in the bush.”
“Well, if they do they’d better knuckle under, and whisper small. There isn’t a man I know as would be willing to stack up against Baylay when he’s roused and in one of his quarrelsome moods. He is a terror if ever there was one. But I must be on my way; the sooner I get home the better. Good-by to ye, boys, and I hope ye have a fine time; but beware Baylay!”
He struck out down the logging road with his bundle dangling from the ax that lay across his shoulder. McNab chirped to his ponies and once more the sledge started on its way.
Lub had an apprehensive look on his chubby face. His eyes sought those of Phil in a mute inquiry.