But Arthur and Roy did not think it best to act upon this suggestion until they had taken care of Joe; and by the time they had got him into the skiff it was too late for them to do any thing for me; for Jake and his brother had put themselves out of harm’s way by pulling for the shore, where Matt was waiting for them. When they reached it they lifted me from the water and carried me so far into the bushes that they knew Joe and his friends would not dare follow them, and then each of them sheltered himself behind a tree. Matt and his boys were afraid of Roy Sheldon, who was a swift and accurate thrower, and when the latter rose to his feet to see what they had done with me they thought he was about to open fire on them with potatoes, as he had done once or twice before.
“I’m onto your little game,” shouted the squatter, peeping out from behind his tree and shaking his fist at the boys in the skiff. “You don’t fire no more taters at me if I know it. Your boat is here, an’ if you want it wusser’n we do, come an’ get it. ’Tain’t much account nohow. Now then,” added Matt, as he saw the boys turn their skiff about and pull back toward the other side of the pond, “ketch hold of this canoe, all of us, an’ we’ll tote him up to the creek.”
“Say, pap,” Sam interposed, “why don’t we foller ’em over there an’ gobble up their other boat an’ bust up their things?”
“That’s what I say,” groaned Jake, who wanted revenge for the stinging blow that Joe had given him with Matt’s paddle. “We’re better men than they ever dare be. I shan’t rest easy till I larrup that Joe Wayring.”
“Now jest listen at the two fules!” exclaimed the squatter, in a tone of disgust. “Have you forgot the peltin’ they give us with our own taters last summer? ’Pears to me that you hadn’t oughter forget it, Jakey, ’cause when you got that whack in the stummik you raised sich a hollerin’ that you could have been heared clear up to Injun Lake. Seems as though I could feel that bump yet,” added Matt, passing a brawny fist over his cheek where a potato, thrown by Arthur Hastings’ hand, had left a black and blue spot as large as a hen’s egg. “We’ll wait till they get camped for the night, an’ then we’ll go over there an’ steal ourselves rich.”
If Matt had taken another look at the boys instead of being in such haste to carry me up to the creek, he never would have thought seriously of making a night attack upon their camp. Joe and his friends had received a reinforcement in the person of Mr. Swan, a hotel guide whom Matt Coyle had good reason to remember. The guide had taken an active part in driving him and his vagabond crew out of the Indian Lake country, and he was looking for him when he met Joe and his chums. But Matt, believing that the boys had no one to depend on but themselves, was sure that by a stealthy approach and quick assault he could wipe out all old scores and enrich himself without incurring the smallest risk, and he and his allies grew enthusiastic while they talked about the great things they meant to do that night.
During the progress of their conversation I learned, for the first time, what had become of the rods and reels that Matt stole from Joe and his party in Sherwin’s pond. Jake, who acted as his father’s agent, had sold them to Mr. Hanson, the landlord of the Sportsman’s Home, for four dollars apiece—all except the one belonging to Arthur Hastings, which Jake affirmed had been broken by a black bass. For that he received two dollars. I learned, further, that Matt had failed again in his efforts to find employment as guide for the Indian Lake country. The hotels would not hire him, and neither would the guests to whom he offered his services. This left Matt but one resource, and that was to carry out his oft-repeated threat that if he couldn’t act as guide about that lake nobody should. He had already robbed three camps, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that by doing it he had created great consternation among the summer visitors. The ladies protested that they could never think of going into the woods again as long as that horrid man was about, and the sportsmen who had suffered at his hands told their landlords very plainly that they would not come near Indian Lake again until they were assured that Matt Coyle had been arrested and lodged in jail.
“They’re afeared of me, them folks up there to the lake be,” chuckled the squatter, who was highly elated over the success of the plan he had adopted for ruining the hotels and breaking up the business of guiding. “I would have worked hard an’ faithful for ’em if they had give me a chance to make an honest livin’; but they wouldn’t do it, ’cause I didn’t have no good clothes to wear, an’ now they see what they have gained by their meanness. I won’t be starved to death, an’ that’s jest all there is about it.”
“Say, pap, what be you goin’ to do with them two fine guns that’s hid up there in the bresh?” inquired Sam.
“I ain’t a-goin’ to do nothin’ with ’em,” was the reply.