“Well, Barr,” said the one who had the warrant, “you’ve made a good job of hiding that unlawful weapon, but I give you fair warning that we are bound to have it, sooner or later.”
“Then you’ll get it of somebody besides me,” growled the duck-shooter. “I tell you that I ain’t got no big gun, and I don’t know nobody who has.”
“I do,” answered the officer, “and when I get my hands on it, I will show it to you. This big-gunning is against the law, and it’s got to be broken up. If you knew which side your bread was buttered on, you would never fire that big gun again. Can’t you see that you are killing the goose that lays the golden egg? The first thing you know there will be no ducks for you to shoot, and you will have to look up some other way of making a living.”
“I know as well as you do that there won’t be no birds here after a while,” answered Barr, bitterly, “and it will be all along of them city sportsmen who come down here and shoot for fun.”
The big-gunner began swearing lustily, and the officers, seeing that it would be of no use to argue the point with him, got into the dingy and pushed off to the sloop, which they searched as thoroughly as they had searched the house, but, of course, without finding anything. Then they went on board the Magpie, which backed out of the creek and turned her prow toward Havre de Grace.
CHAPTER XIV.
“I’LL TROUBLE YOU FOR THEM THOUSAND.”
When the police-boat disappeared around the point the boys drew a long breath of relief, and the duck-shooter arose from his seat on the bench and put away his bag and stick. The satisfied grin they saw on his face kept back the words of sympathy and condolence that arose to their lips.
“I’ve kinder been looking for this ever since you-uns told me that they had found that big gun on Powell’s Island,” said Barr. “Now it’s over with, and I’m glad on’t. I’ll have them things they took away from me back agin. They can’t tell me to hand over my license until they prove that I’ve been going agin the law, and that’s something they can’t do. Nobody ain’t seen me shoot a big gun this season, and nobody won’t see me, nuther.”
“Does he mean to say that we can’t go with him to-night?” whispered Lester, as the duck-shooter walked down to the beach and pulled his canoe out of the water.
“Oh, no,” replied Enoch. “He will let us go, but still we won’t see him fire the big gun, because it will be so dark that we can’t see anything.”