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He was no longer the simple, straightforward soul with whom Thompson had fought man-fashion on the bank of Lone Moose, and with whom he had afterward achieved friendship on a long and bitter trail. Three hundred yards past the Alert he came to a landing stage which fitted the description given by the skipper of the Squalla.
And by late afternoon the following day he had traversed the mountain-walled length of Toba Inlet and moored his yawl beside a great boom of new-cut logs at the mouth of Toba River. Thanks to meeting the Squalla he knew his ground. Also he knew something of Sam Carr's undertaking. The main camp was four miles up the stream.
"That's breakfast," the man said. "I see you ain't lighted your fire yet. Come and have a bite with us. Here, make this line fast and lay alongside." The wind had died with the dawn, and the sea was abating. The Squalla went her way within the hour, and so did Thompson.
"By the way, do you happen to know whereabouts in Toba Inlet a man named Carr is located?" Thompson bethought him of his quest. "Sam Carr. He is operating some sort of settlement for returned men, I've been told." "Sam Carr? Sure. The Squalla here belongs to him or to the Company and Carr is just about the Company himself." A voice from the interior abaft the wheelhouse bellowed "Grub-pi-l-e."
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