Billy Musgrove laughed. "Well, Pardsley, I tole yer in the fust place ter never try no more tricks on us."
"But how my friend, the animalist, would laugh at the way yer paid me back," said Yardsley, soothingly; "bless me, he would."
"Wal, of course, we know'd all about yer havin' the furs," said Musgrove, "an' watched our chance ter git 'em. Tim an' me pried open the door, took the stuff, an' hid the hull business under a pile of hemlock boughs. Then we covered it with snow." He pointed toward a thick copse of woods only a short distance off.
"Did yer ever hear the beat of it?" said the trapper.
"Yer own fault, Yardsley. Tim an' me puts a big rock on a sled, an' hikes away, an' if it hadn't been fur the storm yer'd have gone a sight further than yer did, eh, Tim?"
"Lucky for you we didn't know about it at the time," said Hackett.
"Huh!" Billy straightened up. "An' what would you an' Scummers have did, eh?"
"Finish yer tale, lad," put in Yardsley.
"Ain't much more ter say. Tim an' me didn't think the storm would turn out so bad, Wackett—that's honest. Anyways, we ain't a-goin' ter stay around these parts much longer, so Tim writ that note an' fixed it on the door. We had lots of time ter put them furs back, Pardsley, an' mebbe yer ain't been laughed at."
"Wal," said Yardsley, "I'm powerful glad ter git them furs back, an' jist as powerful glad that good feelin's been restored. Shake hands with Piper, lads, an' we'll call everything all right. Let's bury the hatchet.