“Mark my words,” continued Fagan, disregarding the accusation, “I’ll have yer mangy hide some day. An’ that goes, likewise, fer the young squirt har that shoved me in the muck.”
“Talk’s cheap, Fagan,” retorted Bill Brown. “You have to ketch a fox afore you kin skin him, you know.”
“Oh, I’ll do it, Brown. I’m strong enuff fer it, an’ I don’t know of any law in these yar parts that’ll keep me from it.”
“No, ther ain’t no law,” agreed the tall borderer readily, “’cept that o’ pistol an’ knife. But pistol an’ knife have alus kept me safe; an’ as long as a man kin shoot fast an’ straight, ther ain’t no need to show the white feather to any bogus badman the likes o’ you.”
CHAPTER 3
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At Point of Rocks
THAT next morning, after the fracas at the Turtle, Ben and Tom, having nothing definite in mind for the day, decided to take a tramp north along the shore of mighty Lake Michigan. Their destination was Point of Rocks, four miles distant, where the fishing was said to be unsurpassed.
“The landlady says she’ll broil us a fresh lake trout, if we can catch one,” declared Ben.