“Are these private grounds?” asked Jack. “We didn’t know. We’re camped on the other side of the mountain, and we understood we could hunt here.”
“Well, you can’t,” said the third man. “These aren’t private grounds, but we don’t want you around here, so you’d better skedaddle. Move on, now, or it won’t be healthy for you.”
As he spoke he advanced his rifle in a threatening manner.
“Oh, we don’t want to trespass,” spoke Nat. “We’ll go.”
“You’d better,” was the grim response of the man who had first spoken. “Clear out, and don’t come here again. We don’t want any spies around.”
“We’re not spies,” said Jack, wondering that the man should use such a term.
“Well, we don’t care what you are. Clear out! That’s all! Clear out!”
There was nothing to do but turn back. Slowly Jack and Nat wheeled their horses, meanwhile narrowly eyeing the men. The trio, though roughly dressed, did not appear like hard characters or desperadoes. They looked like miners.
“You’ll have to move faster than that,” said the man who had spoken first. “If you don’t we may have to make you.”
There was a movement in the bushes back of him, and Jack and Nat glanced in that direction to see who was coming. Another figure stepped into view, the figure of a lad well known to Jack and Nat, for it was none other than Jerry Chowden, the former bully of Washington Hall.