to hear the sound of
his own voice; but Cuthbert was of the opinion that the presence of Owen
had rather upset the big chap, and that some of this patter was intended
to hide his confusion, and allow him to figure out his standing there.

The mystery surrounding Owen seemed to be growing deeper all the while,
and the more these peculiar things came about the greater the desire on
Cuthbert's part to help the Canadian lad by all means in his power.

He awaited his chance to see the other alone, so that he might ask a few
pertinent questions concerning Stackpole.

This came in a little while, when, the coffee and stew having been
warmed, the giant timber-cruiser was busily employed in disposing of the
same.

Owen was down by the river's edge, apparently looking after the two
boats, so they would be safe for the night--he never missed an
opportunity to handle the wonderful cedar canoe, running his hands over
its smooth sides, and admiring its beautiful lines, so that this was not
a peculiar occupation for him.

Nevertheless, Cuthbert was rather inclined to believe that Owen wanted
him to saunter over that way, in order that he might say something he
could not well communicate in the presence of the unwelcome guest.

So he got up, busied himself with a few things for a minute or two, and
then walked in the direction of the boats, conscious at the same time
that Stackpole had his shrewd eyes fastened upon him; and he could
imagine the sneer upon the boarded face of the woodsman, betraying how
readily he saw through the little game.

"I imagine you know what sort of fellow he is, Owen. Now, I don't just
fancy his looks, and even if you weren't here to tell me about him I'd
keep an eye on Mr. Stackpole during his stay in camp," was what Cuthbert
said in a low tone, as he sat down on the upturned cedar boat alongside
his friend.

"Well, that's the whole thing in a nutshell--it's a wise thing to keep
watch of that man when he's near anything valuable, for he's got a
reputation for being light-fingered, and I know he's been accused of
lots of mean things up in this country. Most men are afraid of him, for
he can be an ugly customer in a scrap, and under that jolly laugh he has
the temper of a devil. And to tell you the truth, he doesn't like me
worth a cent. There's a story connected with it which I'll be glad to
tell you at the first chance, that is if you care to hear anything
concerning my wretched and unhappy past. I