“Ye must be reel popular with him,” remarked Gaspard.
“All I want is decent treatment from old friends,” continued the big young woodsman. “That tramp’s nothin’ to me, whatever he done to git the police after him—but he ain’t fit company for a girl like Cathie. I’ve scart him away, an’ I’m ready an’ willin’ to let it rest at that.”
“Whar’s yer friend?” asked Gaspard.
“He’s went on out. I told him I’d made a mistake. He was sore at me, an’ I had to pay him for his time—but let bygones be bygones, sez I.”
“Ned Tone,” said the old man, slowly and clearly, “ye’re lyin’ quicker’n a horse can trot right thar whar ye stand. I’d know it even if I didn’t know yerself, fer it’s in yer eyes. Ye’re lookin’ fer money from the Gover’ment, an ye’re lookin’ fer vengeance agin a young man whose got more vartue in his little toe nor ye’ll ever have in yer hull carcass. Ye fit him fair once, an’ he trimmed ye; then ye tried yer durndest to send him astray in the woods, without a rifle an’ without grub; an’ then ye fit him dirty an’ got trimmed agin; an’ now yer huntin’ him with the help o’ the police. An’ ye know as how he be a better man nor yerself—a man who sarved his country whilst ye hid under the bed; an ye know that the thing he done that the law’s huntin’ him for, wouldn’t have been nothin’ if it wasn’t that he’d sarved his country as a soldier an’ still wore the uniform. An’ still yer so all-fired scart o’ Tom Akerley that ye’d jump a foot into the air if ye knowed he was standin’ behind ye this very minute.”
Ned Tone jumped and turned in a flash. But there was nothing behind him except the twirling curtains of snow.
“Confound ye!” he cried.
“That’s all I got to say to ye, Ned Tone,” said Gaspard. “Shut the door, Cathie.”
Cathie shut the door; and Ned Tone went slowly away and rejoined the detective at the edge of the woods.
“I told them we was gettin’ out,” said Ned.