“You’re dreamin’,” he cried.
“No, Bill, I heard ’em make it up between ’em,” gasped Tom. “An’ what I want to know is, what’s going to be done about it?”
“I don’t know,” answered Paisley dazedly. “I don’t know—I’ll have to study this thing out.”
His square jaw was set and he toyed with the lock of his rifle.
“You haven’t told anyone else, Tommy?” he asked.
“Nary a soul.”
“Then don’t. I’ll see you in a night or two. Keep your eyes on the teacher. Remember, if Big McTavish or Boy hear what you’ve told me they’ll kill him sure. You know what that will mean.”
“I won’t tell anybody, cross my heart,” promised the lad, and then darted away.
CHAPTER XV
War Tactics
Paisley paddled slowly across the creek, drew his skiff into the willow bushes, and picking up his rifle, walked along the edge of the creek until he reached the bay. It slept gray and cold beneath the moon, and all about its tranquil waters a ragged tree-frame stood spiral-like and shadowy—a disheveled cloud in an open blotch of sky. Paisley gazed across the bay, his face fixed and his whole attitude one of protest.