"Sit down!" commanded Tag sharply.
"If you really want to talk with me, and will say 'please,' I'll sit down," Dick smiled back coolly at the angry boy. "But if you're just simply ordering me to sit down, then I won't do anything of the sort. Do you want to talk with me?"
"Sit down!"
"You didn't say 'please.'"
"I'm not going to say it."
"Then good-bye for a little while."
Though the muzzles of the sawed-off shotgun stared wickedly at him, Dick Prescott turned on his heel, walking off.
"Are you going, now, to tip the officers off that you've seen me?" called Tag.
"Yes."
Behind Dick, as he kept on his way back toward camp there came a snort of anger. Prescott was not quite as cool as he appeared to be. He knew there was at least a chance that savage Tag Mosher would send the contents of one or both barrels of the gun into his back. Dick, however, had mastered the first secret of bravery, which is to conceal one's fear.