A brief pause followed Brick’s impulsive question. The boys looked on with interest. Raikes gave an almost imperceptible start. Then he drew a pipe from his pocket, and began to clean the bowl industriously with a twig of wood.
Mr. Joe Bogle was the most unconcerned one of the party. A smile lightened his sinister features, and he came quite close to Brick.
“We may have met before, youngster,” he drawled, in a tone that was the exact opposite of the one he had used before. “It’s quite likely, though I can’t say that I remember your face.”
“I guess I’m mistaken,” admitted Brick. “It was your voice that seemed familiar when you first spoke. I don’t notice it now.”
“I’ve often been tricked that way,” said Raikes, laughing. “Lots of people have voices alike. Still, you may have run across Bogle some time or another. How long have you been in Maine?”
“I never was inside the State in my life, until two or three weeks ago,” replied Brick.
“Then I reckon you must be mistaken,” emphatically declared Raikes. “Bogle and I have been in the woods since November.”
“And I haven’t been outside of Maine for nearly fifteen years,” added Bogle. “It ain’t very likely we met before that.”
He laughed in a rasping way. Brick laughed, too. Now that the stranger’s voice had lost its familiar chord, he was satisfied of his mistake, and ceased to think about the matter.
Raikes quickly turned the conversation into a different channel.