Chapter XXVIII: Three’s Company

“Well, there’s my mysterious fugitive smashed in the head,” laughed Tom.

“Also my mysterious sounds at the top of the well,” said Brent.

“And that’s that,” Tom added. “Mighty nice chap, huh? Boy, that must be interesting work!”

“I’m disappointed,” said Brent; “these prosaic calls are getting monotonous. We heard footsteps in the night and they turned out to be a Boy Scout----”

“Oh, there’s nothing prosy about Spiff,” laughed Tom.

“And now comes this tree dentist or whatever you call him, with his cement and his explosions----”

“Erosion,” said Tom. “It’s mighty interesting work. There’s a lot of that kind of work going on that we don’t know anything about.”

“Not a single escaped convict so far!” said Brent. “The only bait-box I’ve seen is full of salt. Conservation experts aren’t getting us anywhere. Escaping Scouts are not snappy enough. I was led to expect an old tottering hunter of the _Covered Wagon_ type, and all I get is a dentist. I suppose the next person to come stealing in on us will be a life insurance agent. How about going fishing this afternoon?”

“Let me tell you one thing,” said Tom; “these fellows are a mighty interesting lot, these government fellows; surveyors and rangers, irrigation fellows and all that--and----”

“Dentists,” said Brent.

“Well, I hope you’ll give him the glad hand,” said Tom.

“He can fill all the cavities and do all the crown and bridge work and painless extractions he wants around here,” said Brent, “as long as he doesn’t bother me.”

“He doesn’t do it himself,” said Tom.

“Well, he can blaze all the trails he wants,” said Brent. “I should think his glasses would fall off climbing trees. He makes a noise like a professor, doesn’t he? What is it--_corrosion_?”

“Erosion,” Tom exploded.

“My error,” said Brent.

“Why, take that old elm near Conner’s well,” Tom said.

“All right, take it, I don’t care,” said Brent.

“That needs some filling,” said Tom.

“I think it needs a whole new set of teeth,” Brent observed.

“And you can see for yourself how important it is,” said Tom; “you were in the well.”

“I seem to remember,” said Brent.

“Where do you suppose that well would be if it wasn’t for the roots of that old tree? Why, it would have all caved in, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have spent an evening in it. Don’t talk to me about erosion, I’m in favor of it.”

“Well, you’re interested in government work, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I love, I love, I love my country best.”

“Well, then,” said Tom, “we’ve got to look at it just as if that fellow was billeted with us and treat him right.”

“Have you ever known me to be impolite?”

“No, but you’re funny; everybody doesn’t understand you.”

“I’m like Spiff, I am not understood. So far as I’m concerned, Tommy, our forest home is open to the stranger and the cause he represents. Are we going fishing?”

They went fishing in the brook that afternoon and so much enjoyed their catch of trout that they went again the next day. They found the fish a grateful variation to their rather restricted diet. On returning with their luscious string of trout on that second afternoon they were hailed by Lawton, who was invisible among the branches of a tree.

“The cat came back,” he called cheerily.

“On the job?” Tom shouted. “Come down and have some supper with us; we’ve got eleven trout.”

“Be right with you,” the cheery voice called down. “What’s it going to do, rain?”

“We need rain bad enough,” Tom answered.

“Do you know,” he confessed to Brent as they went on to the cabin, “I’ve about forgotten all about John Mink; off with the old love, on with the new, I suppose you’ll say. It’s a lot of fun just camping here and catching trout and sitting around the fire. I hope Lawton stays all night; we’ll have a three-handed game of pinochle. Boy, that’s some string of fish, hey!”

Lawton did stay all night and made himself mightily at home, to their great enjoyment. He ate trout and talked about fishing in the Great Lakes and played pinochle and told about forestry work generally. He had been in service in France, and he and Tom talked about that. Brent had missed out on that adventure, being then under the age limit. But he enjoyed the talk.

Lawton was no bore, even the Philistine Brent had to admit that. He seemed always ready to answer questions, to explain. He laughed at the interest they showed and, thus encouraged, gave engaging morsels of adventure and talked somewhat of the difficulties the “forest bunch” have with the political powers that be. He was informative but not boastful. There was a contagious sprightliness about his eager manner of narration. He seemed amused at Brent, never taking offense at that sprawling young philosopher’s whimsical comments.

“Can’t you spare an afternoon and go fishing with us?” Tom asked.

“Don’t know about that! I’d like to right well, though. I’ve got to putter around over at the mountain in the morning; they’re going to revet some of the land where the shore line will run. I’ve got a couple of men coming down from up Lake Champlain to fill a lot of trees, if they ever get here. I was expecting them yesterday. They’ve got cement enough over there to close up the Grand Canyon. You may see me with my trained dentists in the afternoon. Be around?”

“We were thinking of following the White Bar Trail east to-morrow,” said Tom; “maybe up as far as Prairie Spoke. Do you know anything about Bockey Swamp?”

“Scout trails, eh? N-no. That’ll be an all day hike, I dare say?”

“We’ve got one coming to us,” Brent said.

“Yes, you get in the habit of lying around in a place like this,” Lawton said. “Well, so long, I may see you later.”

“Hang around for supper if you’re here,” Tom said. “Make yourself at home till we get here and we’ll have another crack at pinochle.”

“You might put some potatoes cooking at about five or so if you’re here,” said Brent; “put a little salt in the water.”

Lawton laughed good-humoredly as he went away.