“Aw yes, suppose you think you own the air, and you’re going to give us a blowing up. Well, come on and do it.”
“I surely will,” Bradshaw responded. He was surprised at the whole performance, leaped from his horse, and strode close to them.
“Well, go on and search me if you want to, you half-baked nut—”
“I say, how do you get that way?” Jim was out of the cock-pit, his arms raised above his head as if he were being held up.
“Go on and search,” he shouted. “I’m not afraid of the whole Canadian army,” then he added in a lower tone. “Search me and make out you’re mad as blazes. Rip us both up loud and handsome. We saw some guys out to do you, and they are not far away. Savvy?”
“Yes, I’ll search you, you rough necks.” Swiftly his hands went over the boy from head to foot, while Jim alternated between bitter abuse, punctuated with bits of their story told in a lower tone. In the middle of the performance, Bob hopped out beside his step-brother.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, and added, “Get out your gun, they’re just back in some brush.” The business-like automatic was instantly in Bradshaw’s hand and he whirled on Caldwell.
“You quit shooting off your mouth,” he ordered in fine style. “How did you chaps discover this bunch?” in a lower tone of voice. He began the search of Caldwell, and as the three stood they could see on all sides of them in case the outlaws decided to take a hand.
“We were looking for you,” Bob answered while the man went through his breast pockets. “Saw a ravine back there with a lot of men in it. Looked queer so we came to give you the message, then as soon as we spotted you, we saw the bunch, four of them, closing in, so we did our little stuff with Her Highness. Now don’t go taking anything that doesn’t belong to you,” he ended with a savage roar as Bradshaw drew a notebook out of his pocket.