Adam had picked up a hatchet; Phil had a double-barrelled gun, and a glance at the strong figure of Phœnix, who stood with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt thrown open, was enough to make any one feel that a tussle with such a fellow was not a thing to be desired.
Their opponents were three to their two, and looked like fellows determined to win. It would not pay to fight, and the untidy young man with the gun lowered his weapon.
Instantly Adam sprang on board The Rolling Stone.
“Where’s the boy who was on this boat?” he cried.
“He went ashore when we traded,” was the answer. “Didn’t he tell you so?”
“We haven’t seen him,” said Adam. “Now, if you fellers lie to me, I’ll split your heads open with this hatchet. I’ll have no foolin’. Where is he?”
The young men looked at each other. They were evidently surprised that the boy from whom they had taken The Rolling Stone had not been seen by his companions. They supposed, of course, that he had told them all about the affair.
“I tell you,” said one of them, “we’re not foolin’. He went right ashore after we had traded boats.”
“Traded boats!” cried Phil, who had laid down his gun. “What do you mean by that?”
“Why, your pardner said you folks only wanted a boat to get up the river, and as this one is to be took back to Brewer, we traded.”