“That so? Reckon I’ll go take a look after I’ve et my breakfast. But it’s that devil out o’ the sky I wanter see! I got what he needs an’ don’t want, young man—bullets nigh an inch long, in nickel jackets!”
The old man had a fine appetite; and he could do several things at the same time. He could not only talk with his mouth full but he could quaff coffee from his saucer in the same breath. He asked many questions. He heard that his guest’s name was Tom Anderson, that Tom had come from somewhere about the upper waters of the main river and lost his canoe and outfit, and injured his left shoulder, on Indian River.
But Akerley did not tell his story gracefully, though it was to save his life.
“Whereabouts on Injun River?” asked Gaspard.
“In white water, below a big pool and a fair-sized fall.”
“B’ilin’ Pot. An’ how’d ye git here?”
“I took a track ’round the pool and the falls and struck a road that led me into the crease in the woods that brought me here.”
“Didn’t ye see no clearin’ nigh the Pot?”
“Maybe I did. What does it matter what I saw? I was heading for the tall timber; and when Ned Tone overhauled me this morning I wasn’t more than two miles from here. After our fight—after Tone woke up—he told me to take the first turn off to the west and follow that track seven or eight miles and I’d strike Gaspard Javet’s farm—but I guessed he was lying by the look in his available eye, so I didn’t turn off to the west.”
