" George," said Mr. Fothergill, "old Tom Ballou's straight, after all."
"About as straight," said Jim Dunleath, "as a clove hitch."
I had told them my story, receiving theirs in return. Briefly this was that they had been awakened—or, rather, Toft had been awakened—by the sound of shots. Finding me gone, he had sneaked up the shore, as I had done, and, coming within earshot of the camp, had heard enough to enable him to guess the rest. Immediately on his return, they had pulled down the lake in the hope of seeing me. We must have been within a very short distance of each other at one time. They ran clean down the lake, and in the morning searched the shores, beating Ballou to it, but found nothing. The next night they searched the islands, and found the canoes where I had left them. Thus they knew that I was neither shot nor drowned. Then they brought the canoes to the larger island and established themselves there, knowing that I had a canoe, and crediting me with more common sense than I displayed.
"I don't see why you should say that," said Mr. Fothergill, referring to Dunleath's comment. "Just look at this thing sensibly. We all make mistakes. Tom has owned up to his. His explanation is plausible, isn't it?"
"It's too plausible."
"Nonsense! What's wrong with it?"
"Mostly that I don't believe it. Without the canoes they're ditched, and they know it. They hope to get them back by a nice, smooth story. And I don't like the company Ballou keeps. Those two—Nootka Charlie and his friend Siwash George—are bad actors, aren't they, Dinny?"
"Plenty cultus, both of 'em," Dinny affirmed. "Rustlers, claim jumpers, whisky peddlers, squaw men—they don't make 'em much worse."
"But they haven't a thing to do with the case," Mr. Fothergill argued. "Tom met 'em by accident. They merely told him of his mistake, and came along to show him the ground. We ought to be grateful to them. You're prejudiced, Jim."
"I am," Dunleath replied. "I tell you, I don't trust Ballou."
"Oh, bosh!" Mr. Fothergill returned impatiently. "I've known him longer than you have. Bob's known him longer still. Bob, did you ever know or hear of anything to his discredit—anything he had ever done that wasn't straight?"
"No," I admitted, "I never did."
"And there you are!" said Mr. Fothergill triumphantly. "A man's reputation in the country he lives in ought to count for something. 'By their fruits ye shall know them!' That's Scripture—in case you don't recognize it."
"Speaking of fruit," Dunleath retorted, "did you ever hear of 'a goodly apple, rotten at the core'? Which is Shakespeare, Wally, if it gets past you."
Thus it was nearly a deadlock in opinion. Pack and Toft were conservative, expressing none. For my part, I was betwixt and between, doubtful, but hopeful.
In the morning things came to a show-down. Dinny Pack, who had been to the upper end of the island, announced that a canoe was coming down the lake.
As it reared our island we saw that Ballou was in the bow and Louis in the stern. Moreover, I recognized it as the one I had cached.
They made straight for the island, and Louis waved his paddle when he saw us. Without the least hesitation, Ballou stepped ashore and held out his hand to Mr. Fothergill.
"So Bob did find you," he said. "Well, I'm glad of that. It shows I had the right tumtum. I guess he's told you how come this mix-up."
"He's told us," Mr. Fothergill replied, "and it's all right with me, Tom. But Dunleath doesn't seem to understand it yet."
Ballou looked Jim Dunleath square in the face.
"What don't you understand?" he asked.
"If you want it straight, Ballou," Dunleath replied, "I find it mighty hard to believe any of it."