ples' traps, or shoot game out of season."

"Caleb Martin, eh?" Step Hen went on; "seems to me it was another name
from that?"

"Well," Thad continued, "he did mention two others who were said to be
cronies of the big poacher. Let's see, I believe their names were Si
Kedge and Ed Harkness; wasn't that it, Jim?" and he turned suddenly on
the smaller guide.

"That's right," answered the other, promptly; "though to be fair and
squar' with you, I didn't hear him speakin' o' 'em atall. But I lived up
hyar, yuh knows, an' Cale, he's been akeepin' the hull kentry kinder
riled a long time now. I'm hopin' we won't run a crost him any, an'
that's a fact."

"Sounds like there wasn't much love lost between you and this same Cale
Martin?" ventured Thad.

"They hain't," was the only thing Jim would say; and Thad knew there
must be a story back of it, which he hoped later on to hear.

"But why should the wardens be afraid of just three men, when they have
the law on their side; that's what I'd like to know?" Bumpus demanded.

Giraffe gave a scornful laugh.

"The law don't count for a great deal away up in the wilderness,
Bumpus," he remarked, in a condescending way. "All sorts of things are
done when men get away off in the Maine woods. They laugh at the law,
till they feel its hand on their shoulder, and see the face of a warden
close to theirs. Then p'raps they wilt. But this bully of the big woods
has had a free hand up yonder so long, that he just thinks he's the boss
of all creation. He needs takin' down, I reckon. And p'raps, if we
happen to run across him, it might be the mission of the Silver Fox
Patrol to teach him a lesson. Queerer things have happened, as we all
know, looking back a little at our own experiences."

"We don't want to brag," remarked Thad. "Perhaps the shoe would be on
the other foot, and he might kick the lot of us out of his territory.
But all the same, let's hope our trail won't cross that of Cale Martin."

They were presently turning in to the left, and starting to ascend the
Little Machias; a pretty stream, which some years back used to fairly
teem with game-fish, but which, like many another river in Maine, has
felt the effect of the continual work of thousands of fishermen, and
worse than that, the sly netting at the hands of lawless poachers.

Step Hen was interested in many things that opened to their view as they
went on, and his two companions did the paddling; for he had been
working