Chapter XXVII.
They Propose to Turn the Tables.
Bob saw that it would be useless to crave further for mercy, and he remained sulky and silent; but Jim looked in vain to see him blubber. No; in everything except age Bob was an orthodox villain; and an orthodox villain never whimpers when his schemes topple about his ears. On account of his youth and inexperience, he had not provided himself with poison in the event of failure—nay, he did not even attempt to roll off the raft into the river.
“This is rather a home-made rabbit-house, eh, Will?” Marmaduke observed, inclining his head towards the cage.
“It’s kindy weak,” Jim chimed in. “It looks strong enough to hold me, but it keeps cracking every minute.”
“Hush!” breathed Will.
He had many fine qualities. Even at his early age, he could respect the feelings of a fallen foe.
“Hello there, Steve,” he said, as they drew near the group of three. “I killed Tip, but I’ve saved Carlo, so my mind is easy.”
The three returned Will’s grin of pleasure with a shout of applause. So eager were they to welcome the victors that they tore off their boots and stockings, rolled their pants nearly up to their knees, and waded out till the water was two or three inches above their knees. Youth manifests its enthusiasm very recklessly at times.
At this moment Will experienced some of the triumph of a conquering hero.