“Nope, I wasn’t,” said Tone. “Who be ye, anyhow?”
“I’m the man who didn’t take the track to the left, as you know very well,” replied Tom, smiling dangerously. “Your face looks better than it did when I last saw you. Your lip has healed quite nicely.”
“’S that so! Mind yer own business, will ye? Have I got to ask yer leave to come to Gaspard Javet’s clearin’s?”
“Certainly not—but I thought you didn’t know the way. You told me that Gaspard’s place lay to the west. What were you spying ’round here for, half an hour ago?”
Tom jerked a thumb toward the northern edge of the field.
“What of it?” retorted the other. “I go where I choose. I was here afore ye ever come an’ I’ll be here still, after ye’re gone. I don’t step outer my tracks fer every tramp an’ thief that runs the woods. Don’t think ye own this country jist because the game-wardens chased ye away from where ye belong.”
“What do you know about the game-wardens?” asked Tom, in surprise, wondering where the fellow had heard the yarn which he had been forced to tell to old Gaspard Javet.
“I ain’t a fool,” returned Ned Tone, with a knowing leer. “What else would ye’ve come into this country for? But if ye don’t clear out, I’ll put old Gaspard wise to ye; an’ he’ll run ye outer these woods.”
Tom laughed cheerfully; and Catherine heard it and caught the note of relief in it.
“Gaspard is hunting you with his rifle this very minute,” he said. “He and Mick Otter are on your tracks.”