But Mr. Bodge trembled even to his mat of red beard as he backed away.
"Him and me has got so's we're good friends, and I call him Robert—Bob for short," explained the captor, wistfully.
"You call him off—that's what you call him," shouted Mr. Bodge. "I hain't had one leg chawed off by a mowin'-machine to let a cust hyeny chaw off the other. Git out of that gateway. I've got business here with these gents."
"So've I," returned Mr. Crowther, meekly; and he went in, dragging his friend.
"I done your arrunt," he announced to the Cap'n. "I cruised them timberlands from Dan to Beersheby, and I'm ready to state facts and figgers."
"Go ahead and state," commanded the Cap'n.
"I reckon it better be in private," advised the other, his pale-blue eyes resting dubiously on Hiram.
"I ain't got no secrets from him," said the Cap'n, smartly. "Break cargo!"
"You'll wish you heard it in private," persisted Mr. Crowther, with deep meaning. "It ain't northin' you'll be proud of."
"I'll run along, I guess!" broke in the old showman. "It may be something—"