"Not a bad sort at heart," said Rayton, dishing the fried potatoes. "He has had his troubles, I imagine, but when he is feeling right he is a very agreeable companion."
"I like his room better nor his company," said the trapper.
A couple of hours later, when the three were smoking lazily by the sitting-room fire, they were startled by the sounds of a vehicle and horse tearing up to the house at top speed. Rayton and Turk got quickly to their feet. The front door flew open and heavy boots banged along the uncarpeted hall. Then the door of the room was flung wide, and David Marsh burst in. His right arm was bandaged and slung, but in his left hand he held a heavy stick.
"Have you seen that skunk, Dick Goodine?" he cried. "My camp on Teakettle Brook's burnt to the ground! Oh, there you are!"
By this time Mr. Banks and Goodine were also on their feet. Marsh started forward, with murder in his eyes, and his mouth twisted. Rayton stepped in front of him.
"Kindly remember that you are in my house," said the Englishman quietly. "Just stop where you are, please, and explain yourself."
"Get to hell out of my way!" cried David. "I ain't talkin' to you. There's the sneak I'm after—the dirty coward who cut halfway through my canoe pole, and then set my camp afire, stores and all! Let me at him, you pie-faced Englishman!"