“This hyars a nice how-d’ye-do, treatin’ yer guide like he was pizen mean. What d’ye mean by it, younker?” growled the man who had claimed to be Toby Smathers, the forest ranger.
“Oh! it only means that we’ve guessed who you are,” remarked Thad, calmly. “We were warned down at the post to look out for a couple of unscrupulous timber cruisers by the name of Hank Dodge and Pierre Laporte. And we don’t want to have anything to do with you, that’s all.”
“Take keer, young feller, who yer insultin’,” growled Hank, ominously.
“Oh!” said Giraffe, airily, who made sure to have his own gun ready in his hands at the time he spoke in such boasting tones, “we don’t scare so easy, Mister Hank Dodge, if that’s your name. Fact is, the boys of the Silver Fox Patrol have helped gather in a few men even more dangerous than you and your pal ever dared to be.”
“Be still, Giraffe,” ordered Thad, who knew it was unwise to add to the anger of the ruffians. “Now, we don’t mean to bother you at all, Hank Dodge. Our business up here has nothing to do with timber cruisers; and we’re not hired by the Government to watch for any steels of lumber, or land frauds. We came here to camp out, and to hunt. And just now we’re busy looking up the comrade who has lost himself in these big woods. Do you understand what I say?”
“Reckon as how ye put it plain enuff, younker,” replied the other, wondering if Thad noticed that he was gradually lowering his arms; but the very next words uttered by the boy told him this.
“Hold ’em up high again, Hank! I don’t want to have to shoot you through the shoulder or the legs, but I will, if you try to grab up that rifle.”
With a string of hard words the man elevated his hands once more; but if black looks could kill, Thad must have expired on the spot.
“Step Hen,” said the patrol leader.
“Yes, what is it, Thad?”