"Tie his hands!" shouted Joe.
It was done with the thongs from the half-breed's moccasins. Ralph was half-led, half-dragged along the beach, back to the camping-place. Whenever he stumbled Joe with foul oaths struck him in the face with his fist. Joe was not susceptible to any sentiments of generosity toward a helpless enemy. Crusoe Campbell guffawed, and Stack snickered. Ralph set his teeth, and held his tongue. A cold hate distilled itself drop by drop in his heart.
Jim Sholto attracted by the noise of the chase was at the camping-place when they got there. Seeing Ralph's plight, he grimly smiled. Ralph was stood, back against a tree, and a stout line wound about his body, and knotted behind the trunk.
Meanwhile Joe Mixer blustered up to shake hands with Jim. "You know me," he cried; "Mixer of Gisborne portage. These three gentlemen are friends of mine. From your smile I take it you've had a sample of this young crook's quality."
Jim was not at all charmed by Joe's effusiveness, but he was more enraged against Ralph. "I know nothing to his good," he said grimly.
"Let me tell you what he did to us," said Joe. "Landed below our camp in the night when we was all asleep, and set our boat adrift. We might have starved in the woods for him!"
Ralph disdained to answer this impudent charge.
"Where was this?" asked Jim.
"Thirty mile above the Grand Forks."
"You've been a long time coming down."