"I left my Lize behind me, Oh, she won't know what to do, I left my Lize for the Old Town guys, And I left my watch there, too. I left my clothes at a boardin'-house, I reckon they're for sale, And here I go, at a heel-an'-toe, On the old Soubungo trail. Sou-bung-o! Bungo! 'Way up the Bungo trail!" Spirit rather than melody characterized the efforts of these wildwood songsters. The Honorable Pulaski Britt, who didn't like music anyway, and was trying to talk in an undertone to timber baron Barrett, swore a deep bass obligato. He did not take his baleful gaze from Dwight Wade, who had gone apart, and was leaning against the mouldering walls of the Durfy hovel. "You had your chance to block their game, and you didn't do it, John. You make me sick!" muttered the belligerent Britt. "You've let that college dude scare you with threats, and old Ide champ his false teeth at you and back you down. You don't get any of my sympathy from now on. I had a good plan framed. You knocked it galley-west by poking yourself into the way. They've got the girl. They'll use her against you. You can fight it yourself after this." Barrett stared uneasily from one crew to the other. "It would have been too tough a story to go out of these woods," he faltered. "Two crews ste'boyed together by us to capture a State pauper." "A story of a woods rough-and-tumble, that's all!" snorted Britt. "And these dogs wouldn't have known what they were fightin' about--and would have cared less. And while they were at it I could have taken the girl out of sight! You spoiled it! Now, don't talk to me! You go ahead and see if you can do any better." He tossed his big hand into the air and whirled away, snuffling his disgust. Larry Gorman, having peeled a hand-hold on his bludgeon, was moved to sing another verse: "I ain't got pipe nor 'backer, Nor I ain't got 'backer-box; I ain't got a shirt, and my brad-boots hurt, For I ain't a-wearin' socks. But a wangan's on Enchanted, Where they've got them things for sale, And I don't give a dam what the price it am On the old Soubungo trail. Sou-bung-o! Bungo! 'Way up the Bungo trail!" Sturdy little Rodburd Ide, magnate of Castonia, bestrode in the middle of the trail to the south. His head was thrown back, and his mat of whiskers jutted forward with an air of challenge. To be sure, he did not exactly understand as yet the full animus of the quarrel. He had heard his partner, Dwight Wade, announce on behalf of Honorable John Barrett that the latter proposed to educate the girl protégée of the Skeets' tribe. He had noted that the timber baron did not warm to the announcement in a way that might be expected of the true philanthropist.