“Stop that,” he said gruffly; “the boy’s been man-handled enough already.”
“Bah! Not half enough to suit me,” snarled Minory. “If it hadn’t been for the interference of him and the other whelps, I’d have been safely away now.”
“I should think that if you are the honest man you pretend to be, you’d be ashamed to be associated with such a rascal,” declared Nat indignantly, addressing old Israel.
“They’re being well paid for what they’re doing,” scoffed Minory, “and money will buy almost anybody.”
“You ought to know,” retorted Nat stingingly, and he saw the rascal wince under the thrust.
“Where are you taking me to?” demanded Nat, sitting up and looking about him.
They had reached a point of the coast that he knew lay below Santa Barbara, which they must have passed while he was still unconscious.
“Plenty of time for that when we get there,” grinned old Israel; “but you can bet your boots it’ll be a place where you can’t make any trouble till we get ready to let you.”
“For the last time, Harley, I’ll give you a chance to set me ashore and let me bring that rascal to book,” cried Nat.
Harley’s answer was not unexpected by the boy, who had already formed a pretty fair estimate of the old reprobate’s character.