With a look of intense bitterness on his face he rose slowly to his feet. The blood was running down his chin, and there were several stains upon his white collar and his shirt front. If a look could have crushed me I would have been instantly annihilated.
"I'll fix you for that!" he roared. "Roger Strong, I'll get even with you, if it takes ten years!"
"Do what you please, Duncan Woodward," I rejoined. "I don't fear you. Only beware how you address me in the future. You will get yourself into trouble."
"I imagine you will be the one to get into trouble," he returned insinuatingly.
"I'm not afraid. But—hold up there!" I added, for Duncan had begun to move off toward the fence.
"What for?"
"I want you to hand over the pears you picked."
"I won't."
"Very well. Then I'll report the case to Mrs. Canby."
Duncan grew white.