Max in this manner explained just why he and his three chums had accepted the generous offer of the elderly lady, so deeply concerned over the welfare of her nephew Boland, that she was ready to spend almost any reasonable sum in order to at least learn that the poor boy was alive, and in fairly decent health.

They had been told to assure him, in case they ever managed to locate the elusive Roland, that he should not worry because of not being able to comply with the absurd conditions of Uncle Jerry’s ridiculous will; because she had enough of this world’s goods for both, and she meant to leave it all to him, Roland; so she begged him to come back to her, and live his own life again, even though he had spent the last penny of his two-thousand-dollar legacy, and was as poor as Job’s turkey.

All this made an interesting story, and must have amused the woods boy more or less, because Max knew how to put considerable pathos in it.  Obed sat there shading his eyes with his hand to keep the glow of the fire from dazzling him.  Occasionally he would interrupt to ask some natural question, which made Max think he was taking a fair amount of interest in the account.

“What I wanted to ask you,” concluded Max, “was whether you’d ever happened to run across this same Roland Chase in the mountains.  We heard about a fellow answering his description who was seen in company with a dissipated guide named Shanks.  I thought perhaps you might help us out, Obed.”

Obed looked him straight in the face.

“So far as I knows on, Max,” he went on to say, seriously, “I ain’t never met any feller like yuh say face to face.  About that man Shanks, I know he’s said to be a tough un.  I saw him some months back down at Sawyer’s Forks, and by hokey! now that you mention it, thar was a sickly lookin’ young feller along with him then; but say, his name was Bob Jenks, or somethin’ like that, and not Roland Chase.”

“Oh! well, so far as that goes,” said Max, “he may have changed his name.  Some people think nothing of sailing under false colors; and if it turns out that Roland has taken up with such a disreputable character as this drunken guide seems to be, I don’t wonder at him wanting to hide his identity.  So you think you must be going home, do you, Obed?”

“Yep,” the other observed, gaining his feet.  “And I wanter to thank all o’ ye for givin’ me sech a pleasant evenin’.  I ain’t had sech a good time this long while back.  But then the Grimeses all are ’customed to roughin’ it.  Granddad used to be away all by hisself for as much as two years, trappin’ up in Canada.  It’s in the blood, I reckon.  Now, yuh mean to drop in, and visit me, don’t ye?  I’ll be expectin’ yuh, and have something to eat awarmin’, though course I ain’t a good cook like you fellers, as has had so much experience.  So long, boys!”

He waved them a cheerful goodbye, once more smiled at each in turn, whirled on his heel, and was gone, seeming to vanish in the shadows of the nearby woods like “a wisp of smoke when the wind strikes it,” as Steve remarked.