“Hello, Bunk! I’m glad to see you.”
For one moment the lad stood transfixed, and then overwhelmed by the threatened calamity, as it seemed to him, he wheeled and made a dash for the other side of the open space, where was the pile of rocks that had served him as headquarters for a number of days. He had almost reached them when to his consternation Dick Hamilton stepped forth and confronted him. Escape was shut off.
“Well, my blooming idiot, what have you to say for yourself? I have a great mind to kick you all the way from here to Mootsport. This is a pretty chase you have given us; you aren’t worth half the trouble you have caused.”
Bunk gaped, but did not attempt reply. Suddenly he turned to run in the opposite direction, but Harvey had drawn nigh and was within arm’s reach.
“Try it if you want to,” said Dick, pretending to raise his Winchester; “I should like to prove how quick I can drop you.”
For the first time the lad found his tongue, though both listeners noted the quaver in his voice:
“What yo’ want to shoot me fur, Dick? I hain’t done nuffin to yo’.”
Harvey was softer hearted than his brother.
“We are not going to hurt you, Bunk, but you deserve to have the worst trouncing you ever received in your life. It seems to me you have been a long time getting started for Africa.”
“I’m expecting de Perfesser, Harv, ebery minute; dis am de morning dat we am to go.”