“All right!” Len rejoined. “I’ll tell the boys. I’m glad you gave us till to-morrow to get out, for it looks mighty like a storm to-night.”
It required only a very brief report from Lennox to acquaint the firm with what Bob had threatened, and, no doubt, would try to carry out.
“They have no suspicion,” Len asserted, “that Morris is with us, and it will be a good thing if we can continue to keep it secret.”
“They’ll find it out mighty sudden and pointed-like,” muttered Morris, “if they don’t play cautious.”
There was a pause for a moment or two, until Len remarked that he supposed something should be said, or the enemy would think they intended to act upon Bob’s bluster and abandon the claim, “which, of course, nobody thinks of doing for an instant.”
“I understand it’s ours, fair and square,” said Sandy, “and sin’ possession’s nine points of the law, we might as well haud on for the other point. I remember that my grandfeyther used to say to us bairns,—‘better to keep the deil wi’oot the door, than drive him oot o’ the hoose.’ I’m thinking, though, I’d like to take that gambler-man by the nape of his neck and gie him the name of an auld Scotch dance down the bank,—I mean the Highland fling, ye ken?”
Max did not join in the laugh; in his despondent way, he was filled with hesitation which none of the others felt. Had he been quite alone, I’m not sure how much he might have wavered, postponed, and yielded; but while all were waiting for him to say something, a shout came across from the other dump:
“What’re you fellers a-goin’ to do?”
Len was roused. The indignation he had repressed hitherto now came to the surface.
“I’ll show those miserable sneaks that they can’t bluff me!” he exclaimed; and springing upon a heap of stones, he yelled back: