“I declare, ef it ain’t that youngster again!” he exclaimed. “Can’t keep away, hey? All right—I got him!” he called over his shoulder. “It’s that same—”
Tom was aware that Harrison and the stranger were hurrying toward him. Other men were appearing from the tents. He glanced toward the end of the raft. Charlie and his canoe had vanished. He was ashamed at being caught so ignominiously, but he was not particularly afraid. He felt in possession of authority now. He had the whip-hand.
“What’s this?” Harrison cried, turning on the white beam of a flashlight. “Oh, it’s you, is it? Didn’t I warn you to clear out?”
“I’ve come back to stay this time,” Tom retorted. “I know all—”
“Who is it? Do you know him?” interrupted the strange man, who had an honest and good-humored face. He wore a soft collar and a tie, and had slightly the air of a sportsman from town.
“He’s been hanging about all spring,” said Harrison, impatiently. “I don’t know his name. Trying to steal something, I guess.”
“That won’t do,” said Tom. “I know a good deal more than I did when I was here last. I’ve heard all about Daniel Wilson. My father’ll be here in the morning. Just now, I’m in his place.”
“You must be crazy!” Harrison exclaimed. “Look here, you get out of this camp at once.” He took Tom by the shoulder, and propelled him toward the woods. “Got anything to say to me? Well, say it quick!”
The rest of the party remained where they were, laughing. Harrison shoved Tom into the shadows of the trees, gripped his arm hard, and led him on, stumbling over fallen timber.
“You want to talk to me?” he repeated. “Well, go ahead.”