“You’ll go to jail for life for doin’ this!” he challenged.
The man wiped his mouth leisurely, rose, and strode over to the hapless lads.
“Still full of pep, eh? Well, Redhead, it won’t take us long to put that out of you! Young Mr. Millionaire Van Horn here will be all right if Papa comes across tomorrow, but you ain’t worth a nickel to me, and don’t forget it!” His cold blue eyes widened. “Say, what’s that thing stickin’ out of your shirt?”
Brick drew back, fumbling at his breast, where the honor of Lenape, in the shape of a rumpled bit of green-and-white bunting, had been carried throughout the journey.
“It’s—nothin’, just a flag,” he muttered, trying to stuff it out of sight.
His tormentor laughed jeeringly. “Just a flag, eh?” With a sudden movement, he tore it from the boy’s grasp. After a slighting glance, he crumpled it in his fist, strode to the door, and tossed the Lenape pennant into the mud outside the step.
He whirled to meet Brick’s leap. Dirk sprang to help, but was disdainfully pushed aside by the silent half-breed. When next he looked, Brick lay sprawled out on the floor, with an ugly red blotch on his forehead and helpless rage crackling in his eyes.
The man’s doubled fist threatened further punishment. Then, with another empty laugh, he turned on his heel.
“Go to sleep, you brats,” he flung out over his shoulder. “Toss them some blankets, Mink. I’ve got to get some rest if I’m hoofing over to Yanceyville in the morning.”
The blanket-rolls of the two trailers had been taken from their canoe along with the larger pack; and these were now thrown over them as they crouched in one corner of the hut. The walls and crude floor-boards let in draughts of chill, damp night air, and they hunched together dumbly for warmth and companionship. With the moaning of the wind through the trees above their heads as a doleful lullaby, they sank into the despairing slumber of the captive.