human
Jim is telling me that we can expect to see the mouth of the Little Machias River any old time from now on, remarked Allan;
gpt
Sure he is, ventured Giraffe,
human
What was that the fire-warden was saying to you, Thad, about some sort of bad man up in this region, that gave the game wardens more trouble than all the rest of the poachers combined?
gpt
Oh! yes, he was warning me to steer clear of one Caleb Martin, a strapping big fellow who used to be, first a logger, and then one of those men who get boats' knees out of the swamps and marshes up here; but who for some years has made up his mind to loaf, and take toll of other peoples' traps, or shoot game out of season.
human
Caleb Martin, eh? Step Hen went on;
gpt
Well, Thad continued,
human
That's right, answered the other, promptly;
gpt
Sounds like there wasn't much love lost between you and this same Cale Martin?
human
They hain't,
gpt
But why should the wardens be afraid of just three men, when they have the law on their side; that's what I'd like to know?
human
The law don't count for a great deal away up in the wilderness, Bumpus, he remarked, in a condescending way.
gpt
All sorts of things are done when men get away off in the Maine woods. They laugh at the law, till they feel its hand on their shoulder, and see the face of a warden close to theirs. Then p'raps they wilt. But this bully of the big woods has had a free hand up yonder so long, that he just thinks he's the boss of all creation. He needs takin' down, I reckon. And p'raps, if we happen to run across him, it might be the mission of the Silver Fox Patrol to teach him a lesson. Queerer things have happened, as we all know, looking back a little at our own experiences.
human
We don't want to brag, remarked Thad.
gpt
Perhaps the shoe would be on the other foot, and he might kick the lot of us out of his territory. But all the same, let's hope our trail won't cross that of Cale Martin.