“Easy there, Dave Brown!” cautioned McAllister. “You know all Ben knows about the burning of that blasted pirogue now—and now you go asking him about yer eye. What’s the sense in that? That’s not the way to handle a lad like Ben.”
“Cut it out, Jim McAllister! You can’t put any more of that high-an’-mighty, too-good-to-sneeze O’Dell slush over on me. I fell for it once, but once was enough. O’Dell! Save it to fool Injuns with!”
Ben’s face was as colorless as his shirt.
“You’ve done it now,” said McAllister grimly.
“I reckon ye’ve went a mite too far, Mr. Brown,” said Mel Lunt.
“Come into the next barn where there’s more room,” said young Ben O’Dell in a cracked voice.
“I’m not fighting to-day, I’m arresting,” replied Brown.
“Arresting any one in particular?” asked Uncle Jim.
“This young man.”
“What for?”