“Yer can’t worry me, Bob Alden. Let this be a lesson to you.”
Joel Carrow’s hand was about to descend, but the blow never reached its mark.
“Not so fast!” sang out the voice of Frank Landes, and the next instant the farmer was hurled backward, and the stick was wrenched from his grasp.
Taking advantage of the interruption, Bob Alden sprang quickly to his feet.
“I owe you one for that,” he said to Frank Landes.
“No, you don’t,” returned Landes. “If I am not mistaken, it was you saved me from that wild bull the day I was taking pictures over in Sarding’s meadow.”
Bob smiled. He remembered the incident well, in which he had played the part of a hero.
During this time Joel Carrow was muttering a number of nasty things under his breath. He now strode over to where Frank Landes stood, the stick still in his hand.
“You ain’t got no right ter interfere in this fashion,” he began, savagely.
“No?” returned Landes, with just the faintest show of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.