evident this same Obed must have inherited that strain from a long line
of trapper ancestors or progenitors; wouldn't you think so, too?"

Max looked at his companion queerly, and smiled as he made reply.

"You may be right, Steve, of course, but it strikes me Obed has an
original streak of genius all his own, which doesn't have to depend on
any inherited trait. Things are not _always_ what they seem in this
world, you know."

"Lookey here, Max, you've struck a scent which you don't think best to
share with your boon companions, that's as plain to me as two and two
make four. You've come to think a little the same way as Bandy-legs,
perhaps, and suspect Obed of being more than he lets on? Is that it,
Max? Do you really believe he's playing some sly trick on us? Is that
yarn about Mr. Coombs all moonshine? Does this fur farm belong to some
company, that Obed is working for? I wish you'd tell me what you've got
in your mind, Max."

"I expect to a little later on, Steve, never fear," he was assured. "I'm
not more than half certain even now that it can be so, and I never like
to make a mess of things. Besides, you know, it wouldn't be just fair to
Obed to have us all suspecting him of playing tricks. Just go on as
you've been doing. Take my word for it, this new friend we've made is
all to the good, and will never turn out to be the wrong sort of
fellow."

He started on after saying this, and Steve followed, looking very much
puzzled, and shaking his head as though he could not catch the right
idea. Shortly afterwards, however, Steve had apparently forgotten his