Quonab was out in a moment.
"Did you kick my dog ?" The brutal loafer changed countenance as he caught the red man's eye.
"Naw! never touched him; hurted himself on that rake." It was obviously a lie, but better to let it pass, and Quonab came in again.
Then the rough stranger appeared at the door and growled: "Say, Warren! ain't you going to let me have that rifle?
I guess my word's as good as the next man's." "No," said Warren; "I told you, no!" "Then you can go to blazes, and you'll never see a cent's worth of fur from the stuff I got last year." "I don't expect to," was the reply; "I've learned what your word's worth." And the stranger slouched away.
"Who vas he ?" asked Hendrik.
"I only know that his name is Jack Hoag; he's a little bit of a trapper and a big bit of a bum; stuck me last year.

He doesn't come out this way; they say he goes out by the west side of the mountains." New light on their course was secured from Warren, and above all, the important information that the mouth of Jesup's River was marked by an eagle's nest in a dead pine.

"Up to that point keep the main stream, and don't forget next spring I'm buying fur." The drive across Five-mile portage was slow.

It took over two hours to cover it, but late that day they reached the Schroon.
Here the Dutchman said "Good-bye: Coom again some noder time." Skookum saluted the farmer with a final growl, then Rolf and Quonab were left alone in the wilderness.
It was after sundown, so they set about camping for the night.

A wise camper always prepares bed and shelter in daylight, if possible.