Frank did not like the situation. He would have felt relieved had some of them been in possession of weapons with which to stand up for their rights. Some men of ungovernable temper act first and do their thinking afterward.
The dog was trotting at the heels of his master, every now and then stopping to paw at his muzzle, which Frank could see at a glance was bleeding freely.
As the big man came up to the boys, possibly noting that none of them carried a gun, he was scowling.
“Which one of you cubs kicked my dog?” he growled. “I’ve got a good notion not to wait to find out, but start in and give you a licking all around, so as to be sure to strike the right one.”
Frank looked him straight in the eye. If his heart was thumping faster than usual, one never would have known it from the deliberate way in which he spoke. At the same time there was calm dignity in his manner, and he tried not to make his words seem like a defiance.
“I wouldn’t try anything like that, if I were you, Mr. Nackerson. We have had nothing to do with your dog getting hurt, and none of us either kicked him or threw a stone at him.”
“That’s one of your lies, youngster!” snarled the hunter.
“It is the simple truth!”
“But didn’t we hear him yelping like a crazy thing; and didn’t he come running to me straight from here? Tell me I haven’t got eyes to see? You’re going to pay dearly for that kick, understand me!”
“Let me tell you what happened,” continued Frank steadily, at the same time watching the man closely, for he feared the other might strike him.