Two Young Lumbermen by Edward Stratemeyer

"Hullo, Ducrot!"

At the sound of Owen's voice the man who was carrying the boards across the lumber yard came to a sudden halt. He looked at the speaker in astonishment and his face fell.

"So we meet again, eh? " went on Owen. "You didn't expect it -- away out here, did you?"

"I -- I -- not know you," stammered Baptiste Ducrot, trying to recover his self-possession.

"Don't know me? Well, I know you well enough, Ducrot."

"Why you call me Ducrot? Dat ees not my name. My name Derande -- Pierre Derande."

"Not much -- you are Baptiste Ducrot, plain and simple."

By this time Philip Rice had come up, and so had several of the workmen. All gazed curiously at Owen and Ducrot.

"I not know you! " growled the French-Canadian. "You t'ink you make fool me, hey?"

"You will think I am making a fool of you when you are behind the bars, Baptiste Ducrot."

"Is it possible there is some mistake? " questioned Philip Rice anxiously. "This man may simply resemble somebody else."

"I know him well," answered Owen. "There is a scar on his left hand, where he got hit with an ax one day. Another man wouldn't have just such a scar."

"Who dis feller? " demanded Ducrot insolently. "I not know him 'tall. Why he bodder me?"

"Can you prove that this man is the fellow you take him to be? " went on Philip Rice, to Owen. "Remember, his word here is as good as yours."

Owen thought rapidly. If he said yes, he would not be able to touch Ducrot until he had brought Dale to the scene to identify the man. Dale could not be brought at once, and in the meantime, if Ducrot was not held, he might take time by the fore-lock and run away. On the other hand, if the French-Canadian was allowed to have his own way he might remain in the lumber yard until Owen was in a position to notify the Maine authorities.

"I could prove it if we were in Maine," answered the young lumberman.

"But we are not in Maine," said the mill owner.

"Then I guess I'll have to let it pass, Mr. Rice. Besides, I may be mistaken after all," went on Owen.

At these last words Baptiste Ducrot looked much relieved.

"Sure, you mak meestake," he said. "Dat udder feller he mus' look lak me, dat's all."