But Bluff only grinned, and labored on. He had a long pole in his hands, with which he was shoving the smoldering mass over so that it would pass under a certain part of the cabin. Here there was a friendly opening ready to receive it.
The cabin door, which had started to open, was hastily shut, although, of course, Jerry had fired above the roof.
“How does it work?” shouted Bluff, thinking more of his gun in the hands of the one who had always detested it than his own danger from hot water.
“Great!” answered Jerry as he let another shot loose, having, as he thought, detected a movement of the door again.
Thinking they had drawn his fangs, those in the cabin now really opened the door, to get a chance to deluge Bluff, when, to their amazement and alarm, Jerry turned loose a third shot. The door shut, this time to open no more for that purpose.
“Now what do you say?” roared Bluff. “What could you have done with one of your old measly two-shot guns, eh? Tell me that.”
“I take back all I ever said against the bully thing. Three more shots waiting for you, Mister Hobo. Just show your nose, and see!” exclaimed the marksman.
“Mark the window, Bluff!” called Frank just then.
Thus warned in time, Bluff was able to scurry around the protecting trunk of the tree as an arm was projected from the small opening, and, as before, a pan of steaming water dashed all around him.