"I do so declare. Here! I have letters to prove it. Here is my bill-case with my initials stamped on the flap of it. What do you say to that?"
Rex had flashed these articles as he spoke—and so rapidly that Quibb stood open-mouthed, staring.
"You may not believe that I am the 'R. Kingdon' named in your letter; but give me a week and I will prove it to your satisfaction."
"But—but them other fellers?" demanded Enos weakly.
"Oh—now! Don't ask me about them," Kingdon said easily. "I haven't got to swear to their identity, have I?"
"But they've got the permit."
Midkiff began to murmur again. Kingdon turned on him quite savagely.
"Will you keep still, Jawn? You're a regular old Betty." Then to Quibb he said: "There is nothing in your letter, Mr. Constable, and nothing in the permit, limiting the number of Mr. Kingdon's camping party? Am I right?"
"Why—er—no. That's so."
"So I thought," said the suave Kingdon. "I tell you we are members of the party permitted to land and camp here. Never mind if those other fellows have the permit; we have just as good right to be here, and we'll show you."