Conspicuous among them was Tom Mason, who sat on his horse, flourishing his riding-whip in the air and talking at the top of his voice.
Mark held his nag by the bridle, and was trying his best to induce Tom to dismount, threatening to pull him from his saddle if he did not immediately comply.
Believing that there was a fight in prospect, and that Tom would be severely punished, I jumped over the bars and joined the group, intending to do all I could to prevent a difficulty.
“I don’t know any thing about your old boat, Mark Coleman,” said Tom, as I came up; “and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I think you have good cheek to come to me for favors after treating me as you have done. But I will tell you one thing—you had better look out for me now. I’ll sink that canoe if I can find it, and I’ll pull down every turkey trap you set in these woods.”
“Well, now, if you will come out of that saddle for about two minutes, I will convince you that you had better steer clear of us and every thing belonging to us,” said Mark.
“If you know when you are well off, you will stay where you are,” I exclaimed. “Let go his horse, Mark. Now, friend Mason,” I added, as Mark released his hold of the bridle and fell back, “the way is open, and you had better clear yourself.”
Tom rode a short distance up the lane, and then stopped and looked back.
“Where did you get that boat you were talking about?” he demanded.
“We made it,” replied Duke.
“That’s a likely story. I’d as soon think you stole it. As I told you once before, those who sympathize with thieves are no better than they are. You won’t go hunting or fishing with me; but you will ride six miles through the mud to visit the beggar Jerry Lamar when he is in jail.”