Parker braced himself to meet a blow. He felt that the giant would now take satisfactory vengeance for the discomfiture he had suffered before his men at Sunkhaze. Connick raised his hand, that in its big mitten seemed like a cloud against the moon, and brought it down. The young man gathered himself apprehensively, but the expected assault was merely a slap on his shoulder--a slap with such an unmistakable air of friendliness about it that Parker gazed up into the man's face with astonishment. Now he was to experience his first taste of the rude chivalry of the woods, a chivalry often based on sudden whim, but none the less sincere and manly--a chivalry of which he was to have further queer experience. “My bantam,” said the big man, admiringly, “faith, but that was a tidy bito' footwork ye done down at Sunkhaze.” Good-humored grins and rueful scowls chased one another over his face, according as he patted Parker's back or rubbed the bump on his own head. “Sure, there's a big knob there, my boy. There's only one thing that's harder than your fist, an' that's Spinnaker ice.” Parker attempted some embarrassed reply in way of apology, for this magnanimity of his foe touched him. The giant put up a protesting hand. “Ye sartin done it good, my little man, an' I'm glad to know ye better. But Colonel Gid Ward, sure he lied about ye, or I'd never called ye names at Sunkhaze.” “You didn't expect that man to tell the truth about me, did you?” Parker demanded. “Why, he said ye was a little white-livered sneak that wouldn't dare to put up your hands to a Sunkhaze mosquito of the June breed, an' that ye were tryin' to come in here an' do business amongst real men. I couldn't stand that, I couldn't!” “But my business--my reasons for being here--my responsibilities!” cried Parker. “I see he must have lied about that part of it.” “Ah, I don't know anything about your business, nor care!” Connick growled. “I only know there's something about a Poquette railro'd in it. But all that's between you and Gid Ward. You can talk that over with him.” “Do you mean to tell me that you and your men have destroyed that railroad property without having any special grudge against the project?” “Why, railro'ds ain't any of our business,” the giant replied, with his eyes wide open and frank. “What are you--slaves?” Parker cried, angrily. In addition to his lesson in woods' thivalry he was getting education regarding the irresponsibility of these unconventional children of the wild lands. The taunt did not seem to anger the men. “This railro'd is Gid Ward's business,” said Connick. “We work for Gid Ward, He owns the Poquette land, don't he? He said he didn't want any railro'd there. He told us to come down an' dump the thing. We come down, of course it's been dumped. You can fix that with him. But you're a good little fighter, my man. He didn't tell the truth about you.” The young man groaned. The ethics of the woods were growing more opaque to his understanding.