"Supposing I forbid you to do so?"
"I am also authorized to use force, if necessary, to carry out my instructions."
"That sounds very much like a threat, my young friend; but I decline to be frightened by it, and still forbid you to touch those logs."
Joe Pintaud had followed his young leader ashore, and stood close beside him during the foregoing interview, while the Bohemians still remained in the skiff. Now, without deigning any further reply to the old man, Peveril, in a low tone, ordered the Canadian to provide himself and the others with poles, and, if possible, shove the raft off from shore, adding that he would join in their efforts the moment he had cast loose its moorings.
As Joe started to obey these instructions, Peveril ran to the farther of two ropes holding the raft and unfastened it. While he did this the old man stood without remonstrance, but with a cynical smile on his thin lips.
Finding himself uninterrupted, Peveril fancied that no resistance was to be offered, after all, and, with the carelessness of confidence, stooped to cast off the remaining line. The next instant a nervous shove from behind sent him headforemost into the lake. Just then there came a rush of feet, and as Peveril, half-choked by his sudden bath in the icy water, rose to the surface and attempted to regain the bank he was seized by half a dozen pair of brawny hands belonging to as many wild-looking men who had been summoned from beyond the ridge.
In another minute the young wrecker was lying in the bottom of his own skiff, and it was being towed out to sea by a second boat manned by two lusty foreigners. In its stern-sheets sat the old man holding a cocked revolver, from which he threatened to put a bullet through Peveril's head if he lifted it above the gunwale.
Under the circumstances the latter, though raging at his sudden discomfiture, deemed it best to lie still and await, with what patience he might, the result of his misadventure.