ange fate that
seemed to throw him once more in contact with the man who had crossed
his life trail in the past, and apparently not in a pleasant way either.
But somehow Thad conceived an idea that Jim just knew he wanted to have
a quiet little chat with him; and was thus making an opening.

Just as he had expected he found the guide leaning against a tree near
by. The light from the flickering blaze of the camp-fire reached the
spot, but faintly; and Jim did not even show any signs of nervousness
when Thad drew near, which was one indication that he had half expected
his coming.

Perhaps Jim even invited a chance to bestow his confidence on the young
scoutmaster. He must have seen before now that Thad Brewster was no
ordinary boy; and when a man has been brooding over _something_ a
long time, he often feels like having a friend to whom he may pour out
the troubles of his soul, and from whom perhaps he may look for advice.

"Not thinking of changing your mind, are you Jim?" asked Thad, as he
joined the other by the tree.

"If yuh mean 'bout goin' back, an' feelin' like a whipped houn' dog,
sir, 'taint in Jim Hasty tuh do thet aways. Fact is," the guide went on,
with a stubborn ring in his voice, "meetin' up with Ole Cale jest kinder
makes me more sot in my mind than ever. I stays with yuh right through,
yuh kin bank on thet."

"Well, I only hope he'll conclude to give us a wide berth, and make up
his mind that he'd better keep his hands off," Thad went on. "Seems like
he doesn't fancy you any too much, Jim?"

This was a plain invitation, and the other so regarded it, for he
immediately answered:

"I kinder guess Ole Cale does hate me wuss nor pizen, sir. P'raps he's
gut reason fut hit; an' agin, mebbe he hain't. 'Tall depends on the way
yuh look at hit. I on'y done what any man o' speerit'd adone, if so be
he found himself up agin a stone wall like Cale Martin's 'no, not on yuh
life!' meant."

"Then you asked him for something, did you, Jim?"

"Jest what I done, sir; which something war what he happened to keer
more fur than anything else on the yarth," Jim replied; and Thad could
detect something soft and tender underneath the words, that gave him a
clue.

"And that something, Jim?" he went on, invitingly.

"War his darter, Little Lina, ther purtiest an' sweetest gal in all the
Maine woods," the guide made answer. "When he sez as haow I never cud
hev her with all her carin' fur me so much, I jest up an' r