“Vat?” exclaimed Petit.
“Shooters,” interposed Dave, with a quivering lip and an exaggerated expression of veracity. “They go shooting ducks in the swamps for the market, and pigeons.”
“Yes,” observed Tom, “they come up the river a piece. That cove in the nose of the boat, he’s got a bit of a farm up there.”
He was looking at Dave.
Dave took up the story.
“Yes,” he went on; “that’s Dan Saunders.”
“Joe Saunders,” interrupted Tom.
“Joe Saunders, I mean,” replied Dave, correcting himself quickly; “an’ the other cove’s Dan MacCreedy.”
“Dan Creed,” said Tom.