Jud’s father was something of a local power in politics, so that the boy’s boast was not without more or less force. Some of the scouts may have 44 considered this; at any rate, one of them now broke out with:
“A ducking ought to be a good enough punishment for this chap, I should say; so, fellows, let’s start in to give it to him.”
“I know where I can lay hands on an axe all right, to chop a hole through the ice,” asserted Bobolink, eagerly.
“Then we appoint you a committee of one to supply the necessary tools for the joyous occasion,” Red Collins cried out, gleefully falling in with the scheme.
“Hold on, boys, don’t you think it would be enough if Jud made an apology to us, and promised not to breathe a word of what he chanced to hear?”
It was Horace Poole who said this, for he often proved to be the possessor of a tender heart and a forgiving spirit. His mild proposition was laughed down on the spot.
“Much he’d care what he promised us, if only we let him go scot free,” jeered one scout. “I’ve known him to give his solemn word before now, and break it when he felt like it. I wouldn’t trust him out of my sight. Promises count for nothing with one of Jud Mabley’s stamp.”
“How about that, Jud?” demanded another boy. “Would you agree to keep your lips buttoned 45 up, and not tell a word of what you have heard?”
“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’, I want you to know,” replied the prisoner, boldly; “so go on with your funny business. You won’t ketch me squealing worth a cent. Honest to goodness now I half b’lieve it’s all a big bluff. Let’s see you do your worst.”
“Drag him along to the river bank, fellows, and I’ll join you there with the axe,” roared Bobolink, now fully aroused by the obstinate manner of the captive.