He raised his rifle but Tom sternly grasped his arm.
“None of that,” ordered the elder Dacre boy sternly.
“But—but he’s a robber, or at least attempted to be one,” sputtered Jack indignantly.
“That makes no difference. We don’t want any shooting.”
“Hoosh!” exclaimed Sandy disgustedly, “you’re going to let him get clear away.”
Before Tom could check him, the Scotch boy had leveled his rifle and fired in the direction of the sled, which could now only be made out as a dark object gliding swiftly off over the snow.
From that direction there floated back to them a laugh. It was a derisive sound that made Tom’s blood boil, but he kept his head.
“You do anything like that again, Sandy,” he said, turning on the Scotch lad, “and you’ll have me to settle with.”
“But we can’t let him get away like that without raising a finger,—hoosh!” exclaimed Sandy indignantly.
“Let’s first see if he has really done any harm,” said Tom, “he may have only intended it and we have frightened him off.”