"I don't know. I haven't been in any deal that I know of, yet he must refer to me. I haven't any idea what he means by the reference to starting operations, or that sentence about the 'big thing.' There isn't another mill around here?" "None nearer than the Moscript place at Echo Lake." "Then what can it be?" Suddenly Houston frowned with presentiment. "Thayer's been going with Medaine a good deal, hasn't he?" "_Oui_--yes. When Ba'teese can think of no way to keep him from it." "It couldn't be that he's made some arrangement with her--about her forest lands?" "They are not hers yet. She does not come into them until she is twenty-one." "But they are available then?" "_Oui_. And they are as good as yours." "Practically the same thing, aren't they? How much of the lake does she own?" "The east quarter, and the forests that front on eet, and the east bank of Hawk Creek." "Then there would be opportunity for everything, for skidways into the lake, a flume on her side and a mill. That must be--" "Ba'teese would have hear of eet." "Surely. But Thayer might have--" "Ba'teese would have hear of eet," came the repetition. "No, eet is something else. She would have ask Ba'teese and Ba'teese would have said, 'No. Take nothing and give nothing. _M'sieu_ Thayer, he is no good.' So eet is not that. You know the way back? _Bon_--good. Go to the cabin. Ba'teese will try to learn who eet is, this Blackburn." They parted, Ba'teese to lounge back into the tiny town, Houston to take the winding road which led back to the cabin. A pretty road it was, too, one which trailed along beside the stream, now clear with that sharp brilliancy which is characteristic of the mountain creek, a road fringed with whispering aspens, bright green in their new foliage, with small spruce and pine. Here and there a few flowers showed; by the side of the road the wild roses peeped up from the denser growths of foliage, and a vagrant butterfly or so made the round of blossom after blossom. It was spring-summer down here, sharp contrast indeed to the winter which lurked above and which would not fade until June had far progressed. But with it all, its beauty, its serenity, its peace and soft moistness, Houston noticed it but slightly. His thoughts were on other things: on Thayer and his duplicity, on the possibilities of the future, and the methods of combating a business enemy he felt sure was lurking in the background. It meant more to Houston than the mere monetary value of a loss,--should a loss come. Back in the family burying ground in Boston was a mound that was fresher than others, a mound which shielded the form of a man who had died in disappointment, leaving behind an edict which his son had sworn to carry through to its fulfillment. Now there were obstacles, and ones which were shielded by the darkness of connivance and scheming. The outlook was not promising. Yet even in its foreboding, there was consolation.