"Red head! Bedad, 'tis mesilf as will choke the loife out of ye, Huntin' Jim. 'Twould be aisier for ye to stand out there and ax some of thim varmint to put a bullet into ye, so it would. Red head!"
The knuckles of his tanned and brawny fist rested against Jim's nose, but provoked not a movement.
"Waal, what do yer say?" Jim growled, his eyes flashing.
"Say? Sure that Oi'll be onaisy if Steve don't take over the place. Faith, 'tis his idea, and a man should have the chanst of carryin' it out."
"It is an honour, and one which the boy will appreciate," said Tom, solemnly. "Steve, we appoint you the captain. Give your orders."
"Yes, give the orders, lad," cried Jim, his kindly features lighting up with real pleasure, while he continued to stare at this tall young hunter, noticing his good looks, his fearless and alert appearance, and the good temper which lurked in every line of his sun-tanned face. "You've settled about them canoes. Git along with the job."
Steve was somewhat overcome at the turn events had taken, but a glance at his father and at his old companions soon assured him that they were in earnest, and would support him.
"I feel too young for the task," he said, "but I grant the experience will be a fine one, and may some day be of the utmost use to me. Then we'll set to work. Take your hunting knives and slit two of the canoes down through the centre of the bow and stern. Mac, get along and cut a few vine tendrils, and keep that red head down. The redskins couldn't miss you."
There was a roar at that, a hearty laugh which showed that Steve's plan had encouraged the whole party, and had shown them a method by which they might extricate themselves from a very awkward and serious predicament. And to hear this young fellow commence his command by a little good-humoured banter delighted them.
"Arrah, now, Masther Steve. Is that the way ye'd reward me?" cried the jovial Mac, as he powdered the pan of his heavy musket. "Have a care, me bhoy. 'Tis yerself as will be howlin' for mercy if Mac gets a holt of ye."