“I don’t want ’em to go home till I get a chance to squar’ up with Joe for hittin’ me in the face with pap’s paddle,” said Jake, who seemed to think that a greater insult could not have been put upon him. “I shall allers remember that agin him. Now le’s go back to our ole camp an’ see what Swan an’ his crowd done there arter we left.”
So saying Jake led the way into the evergreens, carrying me on his shoulder. A single glance at the place where the camp had been was enough to show that the guides had done their work well. There was nothing left of the lean-to, the bedding, and the small supply of provisions that Matt and his family had abandoned, except a little pile of ashes.
“This is a purty way for them rich folks to treat poor chaps like us, ain’t it?” said Sam, bitterly. “What business did they have to go an’ do it? We’ve just as much right to be guides here as Swan has.”
“Well, I don’t reckon him an’ his crowd hurt us any wuss than we hurt them,” observed Jake. “Them fish-poles an’ other things that we flung into the bresh an’ sunk in the bay must have cost a good many dollars, an’ we’ve got two of their best boats besides.”
“But them boats won’t do us anymore good than the two guns we’ve got hid in the bresh,” answered Sam. “Le’s go an’ take a look at them guns an’ see if they are all right.”
The hollow log in which the stolen weapons had been stowed away for safe keeping was at least a quarter of a mile from the thicket that had furnished me with a hiding-place, but Jake and his brother went straight to it; and after removing a few bushes and chunks of wood that had been scattered carelessly around the end of the log to conceal the opening, the former put in his hand and pulled out a Victoria case which contained the Lefever hammerless. Passing it over to his brother, Jake again thrust his arm into the hollow and brought to light the stolen Winchester, wrapped in a tattered blanket. When their coverings were removed I took a good look at them. They were the handsomest things in the shape of guns I ever saw, and I did not wonder that their rightful owners were so anxious to get them back.
“If we had a few ca’tridges to fit ’em, we’d take a shot or two jest for luck,” said Sam, raising the double-barrel to his shoulder and running his eye along the clean brown tubes. “But they ain’t no more use to us than so many chunks of ole iron. We dassent sell ’em, an’ pap’ won’t let us have ’em for fear that we will be took up for thieves.”
“Didn’t you hear pap say that he didn’t hook the guns ’cause he wanted ’em, but jest to break up guidin’ an’ ruin them hotels up to the lake?” Jake inquired. “It’s the only way we’ve got to even up with the folks that are tryin’ to starve us out, ain’t it? I’ll go furder’n that, if I ever get a good chance. I’ll burn every camp I find, like Swan done with our’n.”
“I reckon that if me an’ you had the money these guns cost we could wear good clothes an’ live on good grub all the rest of the year, couldn’t we?” said Sam, as he returned the Lefever hammerless to his case and handed it to his brother. “They must have cost as much as forty or fifty dollars apiece, don’t you reckon?”
This showed that Sam had about as clear an idea of the price of fine guns as his father had of the value of split bamboo fishing-rods and German-silver reels. The Winchester was worth fifty dollars, but the list price of the Lefever hammerless was three hundred.