“Can you point me the way to Goose Creek?” asked Vane.
The other faced the north, and pointed with his hand.
“It lays five mile upstream, but there ain’t no settlement at the mouth,” he said. “They’re all Danglers on that crick, but some of ’em has other names. It’s about seven mile by road straight through to their main settlement from here. But if ye’re lookin’ for Amos Dangler ye’re too late.”
“Is that the road?” asked Vane, pointing.
“That’s it, but if ye’re lookin’ for Amos you won’t find him. He come snoopin’ ’round my girl—Kate Johnson’s her name—an’ I chased him into the top of a big spruce an’ chopped him down an’ fixed him for keeps.”
“How long ago did that happen?”
“Quite a spell back. Maybe a month—maybe a year. It was winter time, anyhow—an’ Kate an’ me figger to get married in the spring. Do you happen to have a few matches on you more’n you need?”
Again a few matches changed pockets.
“I always make a p’int of pickin’ ’em up,” explained the collector. “Good things for to keep handy, matches. When you do need ’em, you need ’em bad.”
“I believe you,” returned Vane. “A match is like a gun.”