One of the older boys was walking away with Doug’s ash-wood paddle. He stopped when he heard the challenge and turned insolently.
“Prove it,” he snapped.
Doug planted himself in front of the boy and made a grab for the handle. “There’s a notch up there on the hand grip. Give it to me and I’ll show you.”
The older boy winked at his companions and held up one hand. “I’ll look,” he said. Carefully shielding the handle so that Doug couldn’t see it, he stared down at the wood. When he looked up, he was grinning. “You’re wrong, kid. There’s no notch. Now beat it.”
Sandy felt a sudden surge of anger as he moved forward to stand beside Doug. “Let me take a look at it,” he said slowly. He could feel his face flush in an attempt to hold down his temper.
The older boy turned to Sandy and stared at him rudely. A faint smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “Well, well,” he drawled. “A real river expert, now, eh? Know all about rafts and paddles and such. Little Doug here got you through the course.”
“He did all right,” Sandy snapped. “Now, let’s see the paddle.”
“Are you going to fight for it?” The question came as a mocking taunt.
“If I have to.”
The older boy made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head reproachfully. “That’s no way to act. Suppose we settle this with a little bet.”