“We were directed to ask you, sir, the way to the Beaver River,” said the dominie, politely.  The man sulkily led them away out of view of the barn, and then pointed out a footpath through his farm, which he said would lead them to the highroad.  As they were separating, Wilkinson thanked the man, and Coristine asked him casually:—­

“Do you happen to know if a Mr. Rawdon, who makes and sells grindstones, has passed this way lately?”

“No,” cried the sluggard farmer; “who says he has?” Then, in a quieter tone, he continued:  “I heern tell as he passed along the meetin’-house way yesday.  What do you want of Rawdon?”

“My friend, here, is a geologist, and so is that gentleman.”

“Rawdon a geologist!” he cried again, with a coarse laugh.  “Of course he is; allers arter trap rock, galeny, quartz and beryl.  O yes, he’s a geologist!  Go right along that track there.  Good day.”  Then he rapidly retraced his steps towards the barn, as if fearful lest some new visitor should interrupt him before his task was completed.

“It may be smuggling,” said the lawyer, “but it’s liquid of some kind, for that dilapidated granger has given his friend away.  What do hayseeds know about galena, quartz and beryl?  These are Grinstun’s little mineralogical jokes for gallon, quart and barrel, and trap rock is another little mystery of his.  What do you think of the farmer that doesn’t follow the plough, Wilks?”

“I think he drinks,” sententiously responded the schoolmaster.

“Then he and Ben Toner are in the same box, and both are friends or customers of the workin’ geologist.  I believe it’s whiskey goes between the grindstones, and that it’s smuggled in from the States, somewhere up on the Georgian Bay between Collingwood and Owen Sound.  The plot is thickening.”

When the pedestrians emerged from the path on a very pretty country road the first objects that met their view were three stout waggons, drawn by strong horses and driven by bleary eyed men, noisy and profane of speech.  Their waggon loads were covered with buffalo robes and tarpaulins, which, however, did not effectually conceal the grindstones beneath.  The drivers eyed the pedestrians with suspicion, and consigned them to the lower regions and eternal perdition.

“Wilks, my dear,” said the lawyer, in a sort of cool fever heat, “there’s a revolver and a box of cartridges in my pack that I’d like to have in my right hand pocket for that kind of cattle.”

“I have one, too,” said the dominie, quietly, “but we had better pass on and not heed them.  See, they are armed as well.”

Just as he spoke there was a report; a pistol in the hand of the first teamster smoked, and a poor little squirrel, that had been whirring on the limb of a basswood, dropped to the ground dead.

“I’d as lief as not put a hole into the back of them d——­d packs,” said the second teamster, whereupon the others swore at him to shut up and save his cartridges.