"Heard of any goods bein' missed from any depot camps?" pursued the woodsman, shrewdly. "That might tell where he's been hangin' out."
"No," said the operator, suddenly brusque. Then he looked up from the sliver that he had been whittling absent-mindedly, and fixed keen eye on Straight. "Say, look here, Chris, if you and your young friend are over here huntin' for Lane, or for any documents or papers or evidence to make more trouble for Honorable John Barrett, I've got to tell you that you can't ring me in. Honorable Barrett and me has fixed!"
"I reckoned you would," said Christopher. "Stumpage kings usually get their own way."
"Well, it's different in this case," declared the operator, triumphantly, "and when I've been used square I cal'late to use the other fellow square, and that's why I'm tellin' you, so that you won't make any mistakes about how I feel towards Mr. Barrett. I don't approve of any move to hector him about that Lane matter. He says to me at Castonia--"
"No longer ago than yesterday. I came through from down-river with two new teamsters and a saw-filer, and hearin' Mr. Barrett was able to set up and talk a little business for the first time, I stepped into Rod Ide's house, and we fixed. He throwed off all claims for extry stumpage and damages on Square-hole. And when a man gives me more than I expect, that fixes me with him."
"Ought to, for sartin," agreed Christopher. "Change of heart in him, or because you knowed about the Lane case?" The tone was rather satirical, and Withee flushed under his tan.
"You don't think I went to a sick man's bedside and blackmailed him, do you, like some--"
"Friend Barn," broke in the old woodsman, quietly, "don't slip out any slur that you'll wish you hadn't."
"Well," growled the operator, "it may be that 'Stumpage John' Barrett ain't always set a model for a Sunday-school, but if I had as pretty a daughter as that one that was settin' in his room with him, and as nice a girl as she seems to be, though of course she didn't stoop to talk to a grizzly looservee like me, I'd hate to have an old dead and decayed scandal dug up in these woods, and dragged out and dumped over my front-yard fence in the city!"
And Christopher remembered what he had remarked on one occasion to Dwight Wade, when they had seen the waif of the Skeet tribe on Misery Gore, and now he half chuckled as he squinted at Withee and muttered in his beard, "Lots of folks don't recognize white birch when it's polished and set up in a parlor."