“Yes, that’s what he did,” Billie admitted.
“It’s just on a line with what Uncle Fred expected they’d try,” suggested Adrian.
“Wonder if anything could be done to stop that game?” Donald ventured.
“We’ll ask Uncle Fred,” the other active chum went on to say. “P’raps, now, he’ll think up a plan.”
“Huh! why not round the whole bad lot up, and make ’em prisoners?” suggested Billie, boldly enough.
“That wouldn’t be a bad scheme,” admitted Adrian; “and I’m going to propose the same to him right away, when I tell him about this messenger who’s gone off. Even if nothing else came of it, we’d really be reducing the number of our enemies by four, and that’d count for something in the long run.”
“As for me,” Donald declared, vehemently, “I can stand three open enemies to one who hides in the dark, or pretends to be a friend, only to stick a knife in your back when you’re not looking. Yes, I’m in favor of taking these fellows, one by one, and making them prisoners. We might put them in the bunk house, and have Charley Moo guard them.
I rather think that moon-eyed cook can handle a gun, if one is put in his hand.”
“I should think he could,” mused Billie; “and if he’s half as good a hand with shooting-irons as he is with pot and kettle and frying-pan, you’ll find him a real wonder; because, of all the stews I ever tackled that one we had at supper took the cake.”
Once started on his favorite topic Billie would possibly have rambled on at a great rate; but chancing to look around just then he found that he was wasting his breath on empty space, because Adrian had tapped Donald on the shoulder; and the two had slipped silently away, leaving the other to talk to himself.