“Anything you prefer.”
“Well, some game-laws have hoss-sense an’ reason to ’em and others ain’t.”
“He wouldn’t kill deer or moose or caribou out of season,” said Catherine, looking intently at the intruder. “But I wouldn’t think the worse of anyone who took a salmon out of a rented pool, as Mick Otter did on Indian River.”
There was something in her glance that caused Akerley to sit up and use his brains quick.
“I am glad you feel that way,” he said, quite briskly.
He remembered an actual incident of a trip he had made into the wilds years ago.
“I dipped into a pool with a spear that was given me by an old Indian,” he continued. “I got a fine fish—twenty-four pounds. You should have seen him come up like a ghost through the black water to the light of the birch-bark torch. Great sport—but it isn’t inside the law now-a-days.”
“Ye’re right!” exclaimed old Gaspard Javet. “I ain’t speared a salmon in thirty years—but I reckon I’ve done worse.”
“So here I am—with a frying-pan and an old quilt,” said Akerley.
“Thar’s grub enough fer ye here, an’ work too,” said Gaspard. “Grub an’ work, an’ blankets to sleep in—which is enough fer any sensible man. Ye’re welcome to all three fer as long as it suits ye, fer I like yer looks.”