“Go forward, and recover your gun,” the other went on, severely. “I’m surprised at you letting it get out of your hands at all. A wide-awake scout should be smarter than that. And Step Hen!”
“Yes.”
“Be sure you don’t for even a second get between the muzzle of my gun and our friend Hank, there; because I’m going to shoot the very second he makes the first move looking to grabbing either you, or the gun. Hear that, Step Hen?”
“Sure I do, Thad, and I’ll be careful, just as you say,” came the reply.
The boy crept up on one side, and lying down flat on his chest, reached out an arm, thus starting to draw his own highly-prized little repeater toward him.
Hank could see it going, and ground his teeth in helpless rage, for he could also watch the determined gleam in those convincing eyes of Thad Brewster, and only too well did he know what sort of hard luck would be apt to overtake him, if he but allowed himself to be tempted too far.
When Step Hen gripped his little gun once more, he made haste to draw back the hammer. And thus a fourth weapon was brought to bear upon the persons of the two notorious timber thieves.
Hank Dodge laughed.
It was not a mirthful sound at all, but rather caused a shiver to pass through the forms of those who heard it.
“We throws up ther sponge, me an’ Pierre, don’t we, ole hoss?” said Hank.