an' she told me you was out lookin' after your traps. Any luck?"

"Not much." Ralph did not wish the man to observe either the
location of the traps or the valuable mink that dangled from Keno's
saddle. "What did you want to see me for?" he queried, after a
minute's pause, during which he eyed the woodsman quizzically.

"You're Ralph Kenyon, ain't you?" asked the other, evidently in
some doubt.

"Yes. Who are you?"

There was a, blunt directness in Ralph's questions that seemed to
disconcert the man who had expected to meet a rather shy, immature
lad---certainly not one who bore himself with an air of calm
self-possession and who wasted no words. He gave another low laugh
that ended in a chuckle, and replied briefly:

"My name's Bill---Bill Terrill---perhaps you've heard tell o' me?
I'm Old Man Walsh's nevvy, your friend Tom's Cousin."

"I've heard of you," said Ralph, drily.

"Who told you, then?"

"Jack Durham---another cousin of yours."

"Oh! You don't mean the kid that joined that 'ere Boy Scout crowd
over at Pi'neer Camp last summer, after---after------"