"Jim Lane lives up the trail 'bout half a quarter.
"Ain't much to tell, sir, 'bout them folks," replied the agent.
"'Bout as far as I can get, in this country," the boy replied, gazing out over the water.
"They needn't worry 'bout that," replied Trot; "the Snubnoses hate me worse than the people do."
I know they're to home 'cause they was a fixin' t' leave the mill when I left 'bout an hour ago. Was the river up much when you come acrost?" As the native spoke he was still peering uneasily into the woods.