“‘Well, stranger,’ said the citizen, shaking his head solemnly; ‘we got a brass band all right, but we don’t boast none of the same—we just endures it!’”
Ralph was about to burst into a hearty laugh when the scout master uttered a warning hiss.
“Listen, there’s some one talking ahead there around that bend, and I thought I caught a familiar voice that sounded like our Billy Worth.”
At that the other two strained their ears to listen, not that the first thought of anything out of the way had up to that moment given them the first sensation of a thrill.
But no sooner did they hear what Billy was saying than they turned to exchange surprised glances. Plainly Billy was giving some one a straight-out defiance. The first suspicion the trio of scouts had was that some of their old enemies of the town, the good-for-nothing type of boys, had crossed Billy’s path, and considered the meeting in the lonely stretch of woods a splendid chance to pay back old scores.
They quickly realized their mistake, however, when they heard what Billy was saying so boldly.
“I didn’t mean to go around boasting about having a share in that little game, but since you ask me if I had a hand in getting Cale away from your clutches I’m free to say I did! So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mister Doc Merritt.”
“Whew! that’s the racket, is it?” muttered Jack Durham, beginning to roll back his coat cuffs as though he scented trouble, and might not be averse to taking a hand in the same, for in times past Jack had been something of a fighter.
“Come on, let’s hurry around there before he tries to hurt our Billy,” suggested Ralph; and as this suited Hugh to a fraction, they immediately quickened their pace to a run, and hurried to the bend in the road.
Loud and angry voices could now be heard and that of the baffled fakir rang out above the tantalizing words Billy was hurling at him.