“Who are they?”
“Welch and his backer.”
“What—the fellow who wanted to thrash you over at Camp Benson?”
“Yes. And the man is the one who was looking for a chance to dip into the row. Now, I am beginning to think this shooting was not accidental.”
The man and the boy glared at Frank and Bart, but said not a word.
“Who fired that shot?” demanded Merriwell, holding his paddle in the water so that it would slacken the forward motion of the canoe.
“Who are you talkin’ to?” demanded Welch, surlily.
“I am talking to you, sir! Who fired that shot?”
“What shot?”
“The one a few moments ago.”