“So ye hain’t taken my warnin’, I see,” snarled Skeetles. “Hello, Skeetles; what brings you?” demanded Joel Runnell, as cheerily as he could. “Ye know well enough what brung me, Joel Runnell. Didn’t I warn ye not to trespass on my property?” “I’ve told you that I don’t know as it is your property. So far I think it belongs to the old Crawley estate, and it’s in the sheriff’s care.” “It ain’t so; it’s mine, every foot of it.” Hiram Skeetles’ eyes blazed. “I want for you to git out, an’ be quick about it.” “And I ain’t a-going,” answered Joel Runnell, doggedly. “You ain’t?” “No.” The old hunter sat down by the fire, with his gun across his knees. “Now, what are you going to do about it?” “Did you see the notice I had Dan Marcy leave?” “I did; but that counts for nothing with me.” “I’ll have the law on ye!” “Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won’t, Hiram.” “Don’t Hiram me, Joel Runnell. I don’t put myself on a level with a vagabond o’ a game stealer like you. If——” “Hold on there, Skeetles. I am no game stealer, and if you say so——” The old hunter had leaped up, gun in hand. “Don’t—don’t ye shoot me!” howled the real estate dealer. “Then don’t say such things again. Every bit of game I bring in I come by honestly.” “Where are those Westmore chaps?” questioned Hiram Skeetles, deeming it best to shift the subject. “They have gone out to bring in some game we shot yesterday.” “Did they see the notice?” “They did, and they care for it as little as I do.” “Think they can ride over me, eh?” Hiram Skeetles took a turn up and down the apartment. “Must say the lot of ye are carryin’ matters with a high hand.” “What did you do with Dan Marcy?” asked Joel Runnell, suddenly. “That’s my business.” “If you brought him along to worry us you did a very foolish thing,” went on the old hunter. “I haven’t forgotten how he tried to run down my girl with his ice boat.” “Your gal had a right to git out o’ the way.” “I won’t argue the point. But if Marcy worries me any more he’ll get something he won’t like.” “We’ll see about this. I’ll call on the sheriff,” said Hiram Skeetles; and without another word he passed out of the lodge, and made his way toward the upper end of the lake. Anxious to learn what would be the man’s next move, Joel Runnell followed. But Skeetles broke into a run, and soon disappeared from view among a patch of woods. In thoughtful mood the old hunter walked back to the lodge, and then toward where Fred was fishing. He found the youth safe, and surprised to learn that the real estate dealer had showed himself in that out-of-the-way place. “He doesn’t like it that Joe and Harry are here,” said Fred. “I really think he’s afraid they’ll find that pocketbook he says he once lost.” “I hope they do find it—if it’s got those missing papers in it,” was the answer. Fred had already caught several fish, and said he intended to catch as many more before he quit, no matter how cold it grew.