Two men came hurrying forward. The first one Amos recognized as Big Gabe Hackett and he guessed that the other must be Jared Crawley—yes, he remembered the fellow, though some years had passed since last he saw him.
Just as they reached the deer they discovered Amos, and both men showed signs of confusion, which quickly changed to anger.
Almost before the surprised Amos realized what was happening, the giant poacher had leaped over to his side, and snatched the precious Marlin out of his hands.
After that they could not have driven the woods boy away, for he simply must have refused to return to camp minus Teddy’s pet gun.
“What ye doin’ hyar, ye game warden spy?” growled Big Gabe, lifting his fist, as though tempted to strike the boy; but at least Amos did not quail; he looked the other straight in the eye as he replied:
“I was trackin’ around in hopes of findin’ a bee tree for the boys; but just concludin’ to give it up and head for camp, when this deer dropped. Somebody shot her, but I didn’t see who fired, so it ain’t any of my business.”
“Oh! it ain’t, hey?” roared Gabe, “wall then, I’ll make it yer business,” and with that he placed the repeating gun so close to the deer that when he fired the sound was so muffled that it could not possibly have carried any great distance; which was why those in the camp heard no third discharge.
“What’d ye do that for?” demanded Crawley, who was a tough looking old customer, weaker in disposition, perhaps, than Big Gabe, but, Amos believed, every inch as much a rascal.
“So he’d have a hand in downin’ the deer,” said the big poacher, with a cunning leer. “Now he dasn’t peach on us, Jared, ’cause Amos, he’s in the same fix himself. And say, this leetle gun handles great. I jest been a lookin’ fur somebody ter make me a present o’ a six shooter like this.”
“Well,” said Amos, stoutly, “I guess you’re off your trolley about that gun. Nobody ain’t giving it to you. It belongs to my friend, Teddy Overton, and he’s carried it so long he wouldn’t let it go for a heap.”