"No, I didn't, though he's welcome to the information," replied Jim. "I was shooting along a road up-river that turns off to the left—"
"Piper's Glen," interrupted Melchior. "Was you up to Peter Ducat's?"
"I wasn't anywhere. I had a time finding my way back. I met Mr. Merton on the road and went to his house. I dined there—that's all. But I like the looks of Piper's Glen."
"Sure you do—but you look out for Mark Ducat!"
"Who's he? And why should I look out for him?"
"Who's Mark Ducat? He's one of them Ducats of Piper's Glen who don't fear nothin' livin' or dead. He's old Peter Ducat's son an' the smartest man with his hands an' feet on Racket River; an' he's the lad who don't let no young feller he can't lick roam around his part of the country."
"I'd like to meet him," said Jim.
"You better not," returned Melchior earnestly.