“Ralph Kenyon is all to the good!” said another enthusiastic scout.
Of course, under all this heavy fire, Billy felt that he’d better throw up his hands and surrender.
“No use talking, fellows,” he told them, “seems like we’d have mighty little use for one of those hounds as long as we’ve got Ralph to pin to. He’s learned his lesson to a dot. Unless we meet with a setback, it’s going to be all up with that crowd.”
“A bunch of scouts like ours ought to be able to handle three men, I should say,” ventured Tom Sherwood.
“Especially when they’re likely to be cowards at heart!” added Jack Dunham.
“What makes you think that?” demanded Whistling Smith. “Seems to me Ralph said they looked like a tough lot of fellows.”
“All the same,” the other went on to say defiantly, as though he knew he was right, and meant to stick to his assertion, “any set of men who would steal away an innocent little chap like that Reuben, must be cowards at heart, no matter how much they try to bluster and make out to be bullies.”
“Good for you, Jack,” Alec Sands put in. “I back you up in saying that. When it comes to a show-down, you mark me they’ll run before they think of trying to stand before our crowd.”
The idea rather pleased most of the scouts. They were not inclined to be ferocious at all, though perhaps some of them would feel disappointed unless they had a chance to get at least one whack at the scoundrels who had stolen the boy. This could be understood from the nervous manner in which they handled those various cudgels with which they had armed themselves before quitting the camp.