"Looky here, Mister man, we've decided that we're not going to stay here any longer. You ain't got nothin' on us, and you haven't got any reason to hold us up with those guns. We haven't done nothin' criminal, and we don't intend to be held for crim'nals. We'll tell you where your kids are and ev'rything'll be all right if you keep off o' our islands. We own all these islands here, and we're not goin' to 'low no trespassin'."
"The main trouble with your proposition is that we have no way of knowing whether you're telling the truth," answered Mr. Baker. "Can you tell us where the boys are and then prove that they're there before we let you go?"
"We c'n tell you where they are and you must take our word fer it," was the fellow's reply. "They're over on the first island in that direction, pointing to the southwest. You can't miss it. It's an island about the same size as this one, all by itself. You'll find 'em there if somebody hasn't taken 'em off."
"No, that won't do," replied Mr. Baker. "We can't afford to let you go."
"All right, then, let me tell you something more," said the spokesman of the strange quartet, whose self-confidence and courage seemed to be on the increase. "Do you see that stake there?"—indicating the visible end of a piece of wood similar to a guy-rope stake, that had been driven into the ground at a point midway between the two hostile conferees.
"I see it very plainly," Mr. Baker replied.
"Do you know what it means?"
"I must confess my ignorance."
"Well, I have a surprise for you. There are other stakes driven about a hundred feet apart clear across this island east and west. That is the dividing line between the United States and Canada. You are a Canadian, ain't you?"
"I am."