The poacher who had made the demand made a move as though half tempted to get up and enforce his words; but seemed to think better of it.
“I’ll step over, an’ tackle yuh arter I got my hands warm, see ef I don’t,” he remarked.
Bumpus breathed again, for he had thought that the crisis was upon them. He saw that Si Kedge had also stepped closer to the fire, and thrust out his hands, as if not averse to taking some of the cold tingle out of them by the application of warmth.
“What we goin’ to do, Giraffe?” whispered Bumpus.
“Stand up for our rights, that’s what,” replied the other, in about the same style of voice. “They ain’t going to chase me out of this camp, not if I know it.”
“But they’re ugly, and mean to give us trouble,” urged the alarmed Bumpus.
“You mean they think they are,” returned Giraffe, grinding his teeth, as if by that method he could infuse his soul with more of the fighting spirit that was required to grapple with the situation. “When they start to making a rough house here somebody’s liable to get hurt. And as we hold guns, and they ain’t got any, you c’n easy see who it’s apt to be.”
“All right, Giraffe; tell me what to do, that’s all; because you see, I’m that rattled I just can’t think for myself.”
“Keep as cool as you can, Bumpus, and it’ll all come out right. If we can’t handle a pair of fellers as unsteady as they are, it’ll be some queer.”
“But if they keep right along comin’ at us?” queried the other, anxiously.