“Be ye? Oh, be ye?” he cried, jumping to his feet. “If it wa‘n’t fer hurtin’ ye, I’d throw ye clean across to yon hillside!” and he pointed to a spot nearly a mile away, across the river.
“It’s a good thing for you there are so many leaves on the ground to break your fall,” John answered, rolling up his sleeves.
“Don’t wrestle so much with your mouths,” Ree admonished them.
“Why, I could handle both of ye; come on, the two of ye to onc’t!” the hunter cried.
But the next moment he found in John, alone, about as much of a task as he cared to undertake. For two minutes they heaved and tugged, John’s wiry frame seeming to be all around the woodsman, who was by no means clumsy, though he could not put him down. Then they broke apart and for a minute made feints at one another, each hoping to secure an advantage.
At last the hunter’s arms shot out, his hands seized John’s arms so quickly, and he lifted the boy off his feet and keeled him over with such dexterity, that the lad lay sprawling on his back almost before he knew what was happening.
The glee of Tom Fish was quite ridiculous. He danced about and almost screamed with laughter.
“It is your turn, Ree,” said John good-naturedly.
“Whenever our friend is ready,” Ree responded.
“Come on! Come on!” Tom cried. “Oh, what frisky kittens ye be!”