r the winter; so that was the character which Nick Carter
adopted.

Measurers go into the woods, measure trees on the stump, as it is
called, blaze them with cabalistic marks, and otherwise prepare the way
for the workers with the axes and saws who are to come later.

It is well known that some of the most expert lumbermen in the world are
French Canadians, and so Nick adopted this character, and he knew that
as such he could wander at will around the woods and mountains of that
region without danger of being suspected for what he really was.

If any of the hoboes who made their headquarters in that region should
see him, they would not be inclined to suspect what he really was, and
the only actual danger he would stand in would be that they might be
inclined to knock him on the head or shoot him from ambush in order to
possess themselves of the few articles he had in his possession.

And for that very reason he adopted the disguise of a French Canadian
lumberman, for it was rarely that they were supposed to have anything
more than what they carried in sight on their backs.

The month was September, and therefore warm. The leaves in some places
were getting yellow and red, although there had been no frost; but oak
leaves turn earlier than others.

When he descended at Calamont Station, he stood there on the platform
until the train had pulled out, and the other passengers who had arrived
by it had departed their several ways. Then he approached the
baggageman.

"Me want find ze man named Beel Turner," he said slowly.

"What's that?" asked the baggageman.

"Me want find Beel Turner."

"Oh! Bill Turner, is it? Well, go up that street there until you come to
the post office. You'll like enough see an old, white-whiskered chap
standing there, chewing tobacco. That'll be Bill Turner."

"Beel Turner? He ees known here? No?"

"Known here? Gee! He has lived here since the oldest inhabitant was a
baby. He has always lived here. He is about a thousand years old, my
man; but as strong and as lively as a kid yet. You'll find him somewhere
around the post office."

Nick thanked him in his broken English and strode up the street.

Sure enough, when he arrived in the vicinity of the post office, he saw
a white-whiskered man standing there, and he approached him at once.

"You ees Beel Turner?" he asked modestly, sidling up to the man.

"I be," was the response, while Bill Turner fixed his clear gray eyes
upon the de