"Look out, Bob!" shouted Fred. "He'll bite you."
"I'm not doing anything," said Bobby Blake. "And you had better not set your dog on me, Plunkit."
"You fellers are too fresh," said the farm boy. "My father says you're not to come around here—"
"Your father doesn't own this land, and your father doesn't own this creek," whipped in Fred, from the branch.
"You fellers came across our land to get here," declared Ap.
"How do you know that, Mr. Smartie?" asked Fred. He had just finished eating an apple. He threw the core at the dog and hit him on the nose. Rover growled and then jumped up and snapped at Master Fred's bare heels.
"Scubbity-yow!" shrieked the daring Fred, kicking up his heels excitedly. "Didn't get me that time, did you? I'm not your meat."
"You stop that, Ap," ordered Bobby. "Call off your dog."
He had not been altogether idle. There was a heavy club of hard wood lying nearby, and he seized it.
"He'd better get down out of that tree or Rove will eat him up," said Ap, boastfully.