"As much as we can get aboard, anyhow. With night only an hour off the quicker we begin to navigate the better for us. Here goes," and with that Thad started to carry the chopped wood down to where the small boat awaited its cargo.
They were busily engaged in doing this, and had really managed to get most of the fuel aboard, with Maurice pulling from the deck of the anchored craft, and his chum doing the work ashore, when Thad heard crunching footsteps above the spot where he crouched.
Looking up he saw a bearded face thrust out from the bank; and almost instinctively he knew that the prediction of his companion was about to come true.
Was this the owner of the dead brute that lay not more than eighty or one hundred feet away?
Thad felt a sudden cold chill. He was certainly not a coward by nature, and had proved this at various times in the past; still, there was an ugly scowl on that red-bearded face that surely stood for new trouble.
And Thad was glad that he had insisted upon keeping the gun ashore with him while he performed his end of the duty of transporting the wood to the shanty-boat.
He also remembered that it was close beside him, where he could lay a hand on it quickly if need be.
Then the man spoke, and his voice was just as disagreeable as his face seemed to be—a heavy rumble with more or less of threat under the surface.
"So, here ye be, hey? Wot business hed yer ter shoot up my dawg; tell me that, consarn ye?"
Perhaps he said something much stronger than the concluding words; but that does not matter.