“Afraid you’ll have to give us a better reason than that,” Bob said, as he shook his head.
“You no go we mak’ you,” the man declared angrily.
It was plain to the boys that the man was a bully of a type common among the half-breeds of northern Maine, and they could also see that he was spoiling for a fight. They well knew that many of them had rather fight than eat, especially when the odds were on their side.
“Better beat it,” Jack whispered.
“While the beating’s good, eh?”
“They’re ugly.”
“I know it and I guess your advice is good.”
As he spoke, Bob dug his paddle into the water and swung the bow of the canoe away from the other. At the same time, Kernertok, who was in the stern, sent it ahead. Two of the men in the other canoe reached out in an effort to grasp hold of it as it shot past. So violent was their motion that their canoe narrowly escaped capsizing, and it was only the expert handling by the one who had done the talking that prevented it.
“Dig into it, Kernertok,” Bob cried.
“You make um think we scat,” Kernertok replied. “We go slow.”