"STOP, OR I'LL SHOOT!"
"I'll shoot your dog!"
"No, you won't!" And Jack sprang between the infuriated man and Lion leading off the horse.
Dud and Zeph were by this time on Betterson's side of the fence, hurrying to head off Snowfoot.
"Keep out of our buckwheat!" cried Rufe. "By George, Zeph, now I've got you where I want you."
"Help! Dud, Dud—help!" screamed Zeph.
But Dud had something else to do. He sprang to seize Snowfoot's bridle; when Lion, without loosing his hold of it, turned with such fury upon the intruder, that he recoiled, and, tripping his heels in the trodden buckwheat, keeled over backward.
Meanwhile Rufe had Zeph down, and was rubbing the soft black loam of the tilled field very thoroughly into his features, giving especial attention to his neck and ears. Zeph was spitting the soil of the country, and screaming; and Rufe was saying,—
"Lie still! I'll give your face such a scouring as it hasn't had since you was a baby and fell into the soft-soap barrel!"
Jack backed quietly off, as Peakslow, cocking his gun, pressed upon him with loud threats and blazing eyes. The angry man was striding through the gap, when Betterson stepped before him, courteous, stately, with a polite but dangerous smile.
"Have a care, friend Peakslow!" he said. "If you come upon my premises with a gun, threatening to shoot folks, I'll riddle you with small shot; I'll fill you as full of holes as a pepper-box!"