“There,” snarled the constable, “now I know you’re in cahoots with a gang of river thieves. Old Bill, here, heard you try to get me to go right up there where they’re shooting, tried to get me to run my neck right into a noose!”
“They’re dangerous boys,” the merchant suggested. “Why don’t you look them over for weapons?”
By this time quite a crowd was collecting about the little store. The merchant and the constable were receiving all sorts of advice, and women and girls stood about with red hands rolled up in their aprons, watching the two suspects with frightened eyes.
“I reckon I’d better be seeing what they’ve got on,” the constable said with an important air. “They probably didn’t come down here without guns.”
As the constable stepped forward Alex and Case exchanged quick glances, each asking the other what ought to be done. They understood that arrest there meant confinement in a country jail for several days, perhaps weeks, before they could establish their identity.
They knew, too, that their assistance was needed on board the Rambler. The shooting had disclosed a situation anything but peaceful.
“Come on, now, boys!” the constable shouted “Let’s see what you’ve got in your pockets.”
“And don’t you try to hide nothing away from us, either,” the merchant added. “Turn your pockets wrong side out.”
“All right,” Alex said, so angry that his face was whiter than Case had ever seen him before. “We’ll show you what we’ve got in our pockets.”
As he spoke, he drew forth an automatic revolver and held it threateningly at the head of the constable. Case was not slow in following his example. The little crowd instantly scattered; some dashing around the corners of the store and others hiding behind barrels and boxes. The women present let out such screams as the boys had never heard before. The merchant and the constable both broke for the store door. Such a scattering the little town had never seen before that day.