“What have you lost?” I inquired.
“You know well enough, Sam Steele. I’ve lost all my cigarettes—ev’ry box of ’em!—and my four mouth-organs, too. They picked the lock on my door, and opened my telescopes, and stole my property.”
“How’s this, Sam?” inquired Uncle Naboth, his eyes twinkling.
“I don’t know, sir,” I answered, greatly surprised. “There are no duplicate keys to the cabin doors, and Ackley had his in his pocket, I suppose.”
“They picked the lock, I tell you, and the locks on both my traveling cases,” declared the boy, in a rage; “and you must be a fine bunch of practiced thieves, because they were all locked again after the goods were stolen.”
“How about your window?” I asked.
“I left it bolted on the inside. No one could enter that way.”
“Did you lose anything except the cigarettes and the mouth-organs?” I continued, beginning to be greatly amused.
“No; but those things are my property, and you or your people have stolen them. Look here, Sam Steele,” he added, coming close and shaking his fist threateningly; “either you return my property in double quick time or I’ll take it out of your hide. Just make your choice, for I mean business.”
I think he saw that I was not afraid of him, but I chose to ignore his challenge. I was neither as clever a wrestler as Joe Herring nor as expert with my fists as Archie Ackley; so it would be folly for me to undertake a personal encounter. But I said, quietly enough: