“There isn’t going to be any dinner,” said Pete. “You can believe us or not, just as you like, and be hanged to you! If you’ll put down your gun, I’ll lick you.”
“That’s an honest offer,” said the man, smiling outright for the first time, “but it isn’t just practical. I rather think you could do it, and I don’t see why I should be licked merely because you have killed my ducks. Do you?”
“I guess that’s so, partner,” Pete answered. “But something’s got to be done. I can’t walk home without any shoes.”
The man received this assertion in silence, glancing thoughtfully from Pete to the articles in discussion. The dog looked suspiciously from Pete to Allan. Allan scowled at the dog’s master. The latter spoke:
“Here, Jack!”
Jack went to him unwillingly. Pete picked up his shoes and stockings.
“Thanks!” he said. Then he put them on. The man watched him smilingly. When the last lace was tied, Pete got up.
“My name’s Burley,” he said. “I’ll come over with your money to-morrow or next day. Come on, Allan. Good day, sir.”
“You’re forgetting your rifle,” said the man. Pete looked puzzled. Then—