"Yes, go on, please, Thad."

"It struck me while I was lying there not so very far away from that
shanty hidden among the rocks and brushwood. Most of the time the wind
was blowing on my left side, but every little while there would come a
pucker or a flaw, causing it to change for just for a second or two.
And it was when this happened the first time I got scent of what was in
the wind, in a double sense. In other words, Allan, I discovered a
distinct odor of fish in the air!"

"Oh! now I tumble to what you mean!" exclaimed the other.

"And every time that wind brought me a whiff of the fishy smell the
stronger became my conviction that these men must be poachers, who knew
they were breaking certain game laws by taking white fish or trout
illegally, and reaping a harvest that honest fishermen were unable to
reach. Stop and think if things don't point that way?"

And Allan did not have to hesitate in the least, for what his companion
had just told him seemed to settle the matter beyond all dispute.

"Yes, Thad," he said, "now you've let the cat out of the bag there can't
be any question about it. These half-breed Canadians are illegal
fishermen, poachers they'd be called up in Maine; and they believe we've
come to arrest the lot. It's a bad lookout for the Silver Fox Patrol;
but we've seen worse, and always came out on top."