"Can't, eh?" jeered the fellow. "And what's going to stop me?"
"We are. You've no business here."
"And if I don't see fit to go, my young bantam?"
"Then we'll put you out. We're smaller than you are, but there are seven of us—six, I mean," Dick corrected, after a glance at quaking Hen. "You'll find we can take care of you!"
"You kids, eh?" laughed Mr. Fits hoarsely. "Why, if you boys started in to climb over me I'd pick you off and scrunch you, like so many ants. Just try it and see!"
To make his bragging good, Mr. Fits crossed the cabin, helping himself to the chair by the table.
"I see you've got plenty of grub here," the big fellow went on. "I'll bother you to make me some hot coffee and get me the best you have to eat. Step lively, too! Any younker that doesn't move fast enough I'll pick up and swat, and then I'll throw him out in the snow to stay."
Saying which, with a savage snort, Mr. Fits rose and took off his overcoat, tossing it on to the next chair.
"What are you two whispering about?" demanded the rough intruder, eyeing Prescott and Darrin, who were now at the further end of the log cabin.
"Never you mind," Dave retorted tartly.