“It’s no go, Joyce,” broke in one of the henchmen. “This nigger doesn’t know where those kids are. Let’s beat it.”
Joyce, who had unbuttoned his coat, fastened it up again.
“For once you’re right,” he admitted truculently. “It’s time we got back to the car. That pair have holed in for the night somewhere else. We’ll watch the reservation entrances in the morning.”
“Good night, suh, and a pleasant walk!”
Dorothy had hard work to repress her laughter. She loved this spunky old negro.
Joyce turned angrily upon him. “You keep a civil tongue in your face, River!” he menaced. “In the first place, this is a state preserve, and poaching is severely punished; and secondly, you have no right to be squatting in this shelter, I—”
“Pick on someone your size, Joyce,” advised the man who had spoken before. “This old nigger ain’t doin’ you nor anyone else any harm. Leave him alone.”
“It’s two to one, Joyce. Come on!” said the other.
For a moment Dorothy thought there would be a row. Joyce looked as though he would burst with rage. But evidently thinking better of it, he turned his back to the fire and strode over to the door. Without another word, he opened it and disappeared into the black night.
He was followed immediately by the two men. The one who had spoken for Abe swung round in the doorway.