"What are you doing? Stand back!" Hard breathing—and the sound of a short struggle. "Now, be off—none of that, or I'll put a hole through you! You dirty scoundrels! Thought you'd catch us, did you? Keep away, after this, or I'll shoot on sight."
Charley attempted to sit up, and scraped his face on the low canvas. His movement aroused his father.
"What's the matter, Charley?"
"I don't know. Mr. Grigsby was scolding somebody."
"What's going on, Grigsby?" hallooed Mr. Adams. "Anything wrong?"
"No, not now. Go to sleep. Tell you in the morning."
"Need me?"
"Not a bit. It's all over with. Just a prowler—and he won't come again. Go to sleep."
"Well——" assented Mr. Adams. "Are you dry?"
"Dry as powder. Good-night."