By this time Frank had managed to crawl from the brook. His head was bleeding from a severe gash over the forehead.
“Look out for him, Bob,” he cried.
“I am looking out. Are you badly hurt?”
“My head feels rather queer.”
“What shall we do with this fellow?”
“He ought to be locked up.”
“Neither of you can do it,” sneered Raymond. “You don’t know me.”
“Yes, I do,” said Bob. “You are the toughest road-house keeper in the country.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Raymond mused for a moment. “I will make a bargain with you. Quit the place at once and we’ll drop the whole matter.”
“We sha’n’t leave you until you are safe in jail,” burst out Bob.