“And they’re not even frightened,” complained the bandit in a grieved voice, as Skally set the two roughly on their feet.
“Frightened!” puffed Grampa indignantly. (After the two terrible shakings he had only breath enough to puff.) “You didn’t think a flock of bush-whacking bandits like you could frighten an old soldier like me, and a young Prince like Tatters, did you?”
“Prince!” gasped the bandit, blinking at Tatters through the smoke of the wood fire, while the rest of the outlaws began to slap their knees and roar with merriment.
“Yes, Prince,” shrilled Grampa, “and don’t make faces at me, you ugly villain.”
“Well!” roared the chief, after another long look at Tatters, “he may be a Prince to his mother, but he’s a pain in the eye to me!”
“Then shut your eyes,” advised Grampa promptly. “I’d do it for you if I were not tied up. In a fair fight I’d beat you any day.”
“We’ve taken everything they have. Shall we hang them or let them go?” asked Skally in a bored voice.
“No you haven’t,” screamed Grampa defiantly. “No you haven’t. Take my picture you scoundrel! Take my rheumatism! Take my advice and clear out of this forest before I report you to the Princess of Oz.”
Even Prince Tatters, who really was frightened at the fierce appearance of the bandit, had to laugh a little at the surprised expression on the chief’s face as the old soldier continued to stamp and scold. And the more Grampa scolded the more cheerful the bandit became.
“He reminds me of my old father,” he remarked in an admiring undertone to Skally.