That gave the fat boy an idea, following which he too reached for his gun, though not making any show of it, for fear of arousing a storm.
“We’ve been hunting, and got twisted in our bearings; so we thought it best to go into camp,” Giraffe started to say, trying to keep his voice from wabbling, as it seemed to be trying its best to do. “And as for grub, we haven’t got a single bite along with us.”
“They lies, Si!” burst out the second man; “’case I kin see a heap o’ bones clost ter whar they is settin’, like they’d be’n eatin’ some game.”
“We have,” replied Giraffe; “we knocked over a couple of birds, but they wasn’t half enough to satisfy us.”
“Huh! got any licker?” went on Si, still eying the boys steadily with that half threat in his bloodshot eyes, that Giraffe knew meant trouble, sooner or later, so that he almost instinctively allowed his thumb to draw back the hammer of his big bore rifle.
“We never use it; and on that account don’t carry a drop along with us,” he answered.
“I guess naow, ther foolin’ yuh, Si!” broke in the fellow who was sitting down. “And looky thar, d’ye see they gut guns? Them’s w’at we needs ther wust kind, sense Cale Martin took ours away, w’en he sez as haow we’re that drunk we’d git inter trouble with ’em. Bring me thet double-barrel. Allers did say as haow I’d like tuh own a scattergun, tuh use on pa’tridge. D’ye hear me?”
Bumpus looked to Giraffe. He was unable to grapple with the situation himself; but perfectly willing to do whatever his chum directed. Had the tall boy told him to step over, and present the poacher with his nice new Marlin ten-bore, Bumpus no doubt would have done it without a murmur.
“Get the hammers raised,” was what Giraffe said instead.
“Gee! are you agoin’ to fight?” muttered Bumpus; but obeying instantly.