"That's a lie," said the blacksmith, "he's my runaway apprentice."
"I would believe the boy sooner than you," said Achilles, not favorably impressed by the blacksmith's bull dog look.
"It doesn't make any difference what you believe," said Bickford, rudely; and he began to pull Kit in the direction of the wagon.
"Let go that boy's collar," cried Achilles, sternly.
"I won't!" retorted the blacksmith. "I advise you to mind your own business."
Achilles Henderson, like most big men, was good natured, but he was roused by the other's insolence. He carried war into the enemy's camp by seizing the blacksmith and shaking him till he was compelled to release his grasp.
"What do you mean by this outrage?" demanded Bickford, furiously.
"It's only a gentle hint," said Achilles, smiling. "Now, my friend, I've got a piece of advice to give you. If that is your wagon back there you'd better get into it as soon as convenient—the sooner the better—and get out of my way or I'll give you a stronger hint."
The blacksmith was too indignant to be prudent. What! Confess himself vanquished, and go home without the boy! The idea was intolerable to him.
"I'm goin' to take the boy," he said, angrily, and darting forward he essayed to seize Kit by the collar again.