“Yes—but the sports who fish dis river don’t come dis summer. But I see one stranger. I tell Sherwood ’bout dat feller, but he don’t care. He too crazy. I tell Lunt ’bout ’im too an’ Lunt call me a liar.”
“What about the stranger?” asked McAllister. “Suspicious-looking character was he, or what?”
“Dat right. He come onto dis clearin’ one day, sudden, an’ look t’rough dat door at me an’ say ‘Hullo, frien’, you know good feller ’round here somewheres name of Louis Balenger, hey, what?’ ‘Nope, don’t never see Balenger,’ I tell dat man. ‘Balenger go off dis river ten-twelve year ago an’ don’t come back. You his brodder, maybe, hey?’ ‘Brodder be tam!’ dat stranger say. ‘Do bizness wid him one time. Got somet’ing for him, but it don’t matter. Good day.’ Den he walk off quick, dat stranger, an’ I don’t foller him, no. He smile kinder nasty at me, wid two-t’ree gold tooth, so I t’ink maybe Noel Sabattis may’s well go right on wid cookin’ his little dinner. Don’t see dat stranger no more.”
“When was that?” asked Ben.
“When dat feller come ’round? Four-five day afore Louis Balenger come back, maybe.”
“Before he came back? Did you tell him about it?”
“Tell Balenger? Nope. Don’t tell Balenger not’ing. Don’t like dat feller Balenger, me.”
“And the stranger went away? He didn’t wait for Balenger?”
“Dat right. Don’t see ’im, anyhow. Don’t see no canoe, don’t smell no smoke.”
“Perhaps he hid and waited for him. Perhaps he did the shooting!”