"I'll make it twenty apiece for each," he insisted. "Here they are. See? Give me those shoes, and take these yellow bucks and go and have a good time."
But we shook our heads, and had to laugh. He couldn't bluff us Scouts, and he couldn't bribe us, either. He twisted and stood up, and we jumped away, and Kit was ready to grab up the shoes and carry them across into the burned timber where the ground was still hot.
The man swore and threatened frightfully.
"I'd like to get my fingers on one of you, once," he stormed. "You'd sing a different tune."
So we would. But we had the advantage now and we didn't propose to lose it. He couldn't travel far in bare, blistered feet. I wished that he'd sit down again. We didn't want to torment him or nag him, just because we had him. He did sit down.
"What do you think I am, anyhow?" he asked.
"Well, you've been killing beaver," I told him.
"Who said so?"
"We saw you at the beaver-pond, when we were camping opposite. And just after you left the game warden came along, looking for you."
"You saw some other man."