Then
the head of the forest pulled up a little and conversed with McGinnis
briefly for a while, resuming his rapid pace as soon as they were
through. Once, and once only, did he speak to Wilbur, and that was just
as they got on the road leading to the sawmill. There he said:

"Think all you like, but don't say it."

When they reached the mill they passed the time of day with several of
the men, who seemed glad to see them, and a good deal of good-natured
banter passed between McGinnis and the men to whom he was well known.
The Supervisor sent word that he wanted to see the boss, and presently
Peavey Jo came out to meet them.

"Salut, Merritt!" he said; "I t'ink it's long time since you were here,
hey?"

The words as well as the look of the man told Wilbur his race and
nation. Evidently of French origin, possibly with a trace of Indian in
him, this burly son of generations of voyageurs looked his strength.
Wilbur had gone up one winter to northern Wisconsin and Michigan where
some of the big lumber camps were, and he knew the breed. He decided
that Merritt's advice was extremely good; he would talk just as little
as he had to.

The Supervisor wasted no time on preliminary greetings. That was not his
way.

"How much lumber did you cut last winter off ground that didn't belong
to you?" he queried shortly.

"Off land not mine?"

"You heard my question!"

"I cut him off my own land," said the millman with an injured
expression.

"Some of it."

"You scale all the logs I cut. You mark him. I sell him. All right."

"You tell it well," commented the Supervisor tersely. "But it don't go,
Jo. How much was there?"

"I tell you I cut him off my land."

Merritt pointedly took his notebook from his breastpocket.

"Liars make me tired," he announced impartially.

"You call me a liar--" began the big lumberman savagely, edging up to
the horse.

"Not yet. But I probably will before I'm through," was the unperturbed
reply.

"You say all the same that I am a liar, is it not?"

"Not yet, anyway. What does it matter? You cut four and a half million
feet, a little over."

A smile passed over the faces of the men attached to the sawmill. It was
evident that a number of them must know about the trespass, and probably
thought that Peavey Jo had been clever in getting away with it. The
mill-owner laughed.

"You t'ink I keep him in my pocket, hey?" he queried. "Four and a half
million feet is big enough to see. You