“We ought not to let them on the bar at all,” Alex advised. “If they get here and can’t find what they want, they’re liable to take anything they can get their hands on. I’m for pulling out the guns and spattering a little lead over the water.”
“Are you going to send it over?” called the man from the raft.
“Go take a drink out of the river!” advised Jule.
“I’ll show you whether we will or not!”
All this time the raft had been drifting down stream, and the Rambler had, of course, remained stationary. As the man uttered this implied threat, he cast off the line of a boat, motioned to two men who stood near, and the three entered and began rowing toward the sand bar.
“We’ll overtake you in a half an hour,” the man who had done most of the talking from the raft called out to his companions, “and we’ll bring back something cheering if it is to be had on that boat.”
“About the only thing you’ll get on this boat,” Case shouted, “will be bullets. If you don’t sheer away, you’ll get a volley right now.”
The men stopped rowing and backed water as the boys drew their automatics and stood in a row at the edge of the bar.
“Aw, come on kids, give us a couple of cases and we’ll go on our way. We’re going to get it anyhow.”
“There isn’t a drop of intoxicating liquor on board,” Clay assured the man. “This is not a bumboat. We’re just boys out on a pleasure trip.”