"Naw! never touched him; hurted himself on that rake."
It was obviously a lie, but better to let it pass, and Quonab
came in again.
Then the rough stranger appeared at the door and growled: "Say,
Warren! ain't you going to let me have that rifle? I guess my
word's as good as the next man's."
"No," said Warren; "I told you, no!"
"Then you can go to blazes, and you'll never see a cent's worth
of fur from the stuff I got last year."
"I don't expect to," was the reply; "I've learned what your
word's worth." And the stranger slouched away.
"Who vas he?" asked Hendrik.
"I only know that his name is Jack Hoag; he's a little bit of a
trapper and a big bit of a bum; stuck me last year. He doesn't
come out this way; they say he goes out by the west side of the
mountains."
New light on their course was secured from Warren, and above all,
the important information that the mouth of Jesup's River was
marked by an eagle's nest in a dead pine. "Up to that point keep
the main stream, and don't forget next spring I'm buying fur."
The drive across Five-mile portage was slow. It took over two
hours to cover it, but late that day they reached the Schroon.
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