The blow which followed the remark had nothing to break its force. Mad Rowell was lifted clear of the floor by the force of it, whirled around a couple of times, and fell unconscious to the top of a heap of green wood.
Then Buck turned to the counter and proceeded with his bargaining as if nothing had occurred. Gradually the customers returned to the store, but not until Buck and the boys had made their purchases and left the store was there any comment whatever.
Then opinions, both for and against the unknown man who had dealt with the man known as Mad Rowell so summarily were heard.
“Served him good and right,” said the storekeeper, lifting the fallen tough in his arms and throwing him out of doors. “The fellow has run this town too long already.”
And that was the general sentiment, though Rowell had his friends too.
Clay and Case, clothed in new suits, proceeded on their way to where the motor boat had been secreted.
“Tell you what,” Buck suggested, “I think some of us had better remain on the spot, in case prowlers should take a fancy to the Esmeralda. Nice name, eh? Named for an old sweetheart.”
“Who’ll be the one to stay?” asked Clay, looking keenly at his chum. “You know the money was ordered in my name from Chicago, and no one else can receipt.”
“That puts it up to me, I take it,” Case replied. “Have you any idea when the other boys will be along?”
“When Alex gets full to the neck,” replied Clay. “If you want to see an eating contest that is a corker, just get Alex and Jule pitted against each other.”