Then a gnarled hand was stretched out and eagerly seized upon the beautiful little Marlin, which was quickly withdrawn from view.
Just then Eli was startled to hear a gruff "Ahem" from a point in front of him, and glancing up hurriedly from his work he discovered a man standing leaning on a long-barreled rifle and surveying him with a sneer on his face.
It was the same fellow who had bunked with them and drank their elegant Java with such gusto—Stackpole, the timber-cruiser.
Eli had not liked his looks when he was in camp, and he certainly saw no reason to change his mind concerning the fellow now, for Stackpole did have a piratical appearance when he scowled or looked scornful.
Instinct compelled Eli to reach out his hand for his gun, even while not removing his eyes from the interloper with the evil cast of features.
When his groping hand failed to connect with the rifle he was compelled to turn his head quickly and saw, to his dismay, that the gun no longer occupied the spot where he had placed it.
At the same moment a second man stepped into view, having his own rifle hung over his shoulder with a strap, while the repeater belonging to Cuthbert was resting in his grimy hands.
Eli recognized this worthy immediately, nor was he very much surprised to see him there, since Owen had declared it to be his belief that they might run across him sooner or later.
He remembered how they had met him some weeks earlier, and also how he had made up that chart for Cuthbert, for a consideration, which since that time had proven so very unreliable, and which the Canadian lad pronounced utterly worthless.
It was Dubois, the greasy woods-ranger, fit comrade for the ungainly and grinning Stackpole.