“Hullo Charley,” said one of them, “what you doing here? Ain't seen you since th' Sturgeon district.”
“Mak' 'um canoe,” replied Charley rather obviously.
“So I see. But what you expect to get in this Godforsaken country?”
“Trapping, eh?” The man gazed keenly at Thorpe's recumbent figure.
Thorpe held his breath; then exhaled it in a long sigh of relief.
“Him white man,” Injin Charley was replying, “him hunt too. He mak' 'um buckskin.”
The landlooker arose lazily and sauntered toward the group. It was part of his plan to be well recognized so that in the future he might arouse no suspicions.
“How are you,” replied one of the scalers, eying him sharply, and tendering his pouch. Thorpe filled his pipe deliberately, and returned it with a heavy-lidded glance of thanks. To all appearances he was one of the lazy, shiftless white hunters of the backwoods. Seized with an inspiration, he said, “What sort of chances is they at your camp for a little flour? Me and Charley's about out. I'll bring you meat; or I'll make you boys moccasins. I got some good buckskin.”
“Pretty good, I guess. Come up and see,” advised the scaler. “The crew's right behind us.”
“I'll send up Charley,” drawled Thorpe, “I'm busy now makin' traps,” he waved his pipe, calling attention to the pine and rawhide dead-falls.
They chatted a few moments, practically and with an eye to the strict utility of things about them, as became woodsmen. Then two wagons creaked lurching by, followed by fifteen or twenty men. The last of these, evidently the foreman, was joined by the two scalers.
“What's that outfit?” he inquired with the sharpness of suspicion.
“Old Injin Charley--you remember, the old boy that tanned that buck for you down on Cedar Creek.”
“Oh, a hunter,” replied the scaler carelessly.
The man laughed. “Couldn't be nothin' else,” he asserted with confidence. “Regular old backwoods mossback.”
At the same time Injin Charley was setting about the splitting of a cedar log.
In the days that followed, Thorpe cruised about the great woods. It was slow business, but fascinating. He knew that when he should embark on his attempt to enlist considerable capital in an “unsight unseen” investment, he would have to be well supplied with statistics. True, he was not much of a timber estimator, nor did he know the methods usually employed, but his experience, observation, and reading had developed a latent sixth sense by which he could appreciate quality, difficulties of logging, and such kindred practical matters.