"Hush up, infant!" the Westerner advised. "We can't hear ourselves think for your chatter."
"Going to give us back our canoes?" shouted Kirby.
"For a price," Kingdon coolly told him. "Of course, you don't expect to get anything for nothing? It isn't done, my boy; it isn't done."
Before Harry Kirby could sputter again, the tall, dark fellow interfered. The catboat now swung so near the shore on the morning tide that a conversational tone between the two parties was all that was necessary.
"I say," Horace Pence said, "you're Rex Kingdon, aren't you?"
"Bull's-eye," admitted the blond youth lazily. "But I haven't the pleasure, have I?"
"That makes no difference. I suppose it was you who came ashore here last night?"
"Seems to me I remember something like that," admitted Rex suddenly a-smile. He saw the Indian behind the group of other boys, and the smile was for him. But Joe Bootleg did not respond; only stared down at his erstwhile antagonist threateningly.
"What do you want here at Storm Island, anyway?" demanded Pence boldly.
"You ought to go ashore and tell him, Rex," declared Red Phillips in disgust. "The gall of him!"