Taking his gun again, The Talker and two of his companions stepped to the edge of the woods, where each immediately slipped behind a tree.
“Let me go!” cried Chap, while struggling with the Indian who was holding him. “I’m captain of this party, and you’ve no right to keep me back.”
To this appeal the Indian made no answer, but Held on vigorously to the wrathful boy.
“There went three of ’em behind them trees,” said Adam. “I know they’re Indians by the way they move, and they’ve got guns. The white fellers are keepin’ back.”
“That’s because we’ve got their guns,” cried Phil, from the cabin.
“They’d do it anyhow,” said Adam,—“the cowards! These Indians’ll be bad customers and hard to hit. Don’t fire if they don’t come out, and keep yourselves as well covered as you kin.”
The Talker now shouted from behind his tree,—
“Come ashore! Give up boat! We let you off!”
The impudence of this demand exasperated the boys, and Phil, now strengthened by excitement and his meal of cold meat and crackers, sent back a shout of defiance. But Adam exclaimed,—
“Keep quiet! ’Tain’t no use to waste breath on ’em. Let’s see what they’ll do next.”