“Haven’t you got anything?” asked Runnell.
“We have—er—some deer meat, but that is all.”
“And that is meat you stole from us,” put in Harry.
“Don’t say ‘stole,’ my boy. We——”
“Don’t call me your boy, Mr. Skeetles. I wouldn’t be your boy for a million dollars.”
“Don’t grow abusive, Westmore. I took the deer because I found it on my property. If I had wished to be mean I could have kept all of your stores and traps also.”
“Not without a hot fight,” came from Joe.
“Then you—er—won’t sell me anything?” said Hiram Skeetles, disappointedly.
“Wait, I’ve got a scheme,” whispered Fred to his two chums.
“What is it?” both questioned, in return.