McAllister ran forward. Noel saw him coming, grinned and steadied the big gun. McAllister seized a rifle with each hand and yanked them both backward over their owners’ shoulders. He moved swiftly around and confronted the intruders. The glare of his gray eyes was hard and hot. He tossed one rifle behind him and held the other in readiness after a jerk on the bolt and a glance at the breech.
“Guess I go bile de kittle now,” said Noel Sabattis; and he lowered the duck gun and retired. His old arms trembled with fatigue, but his old heart was high and strong.
“What have you two got to say for yerselves?” asked McAllister, turning his unnerving gaze from Lunt to Hood and back to Lunt. “Ain’t you read the game laws for this year? Hunting season opens October first, as usual. Or maybe you forgot I’m a game warden.”
“Cut it out, Jim McAllister!” retorted Lunt. “I’m a constable. Ye ain’t forgot that, I guess.”
“Sure, I know that. And as you won’t be one much longer, I’ll use you now. Arrest Tim Hood an’ take him down to Woodstock to the sheriff—an’ hand yerself over too while ye’re about it. The charge is carrying loaded rifles in these woods in close season.”
“None o’ that,” said old Tim Hood. “Ye can’t fool me, Jim. Me an’ Mel ain’t here to kill moose or deer—an’ well ye know it. We be here to take a man the law wants for murder. So back out an’ set down, Mr. Jim McAllister. This ain’t no job for a game warden.”
“I’ll be as easy on you as I can,” returned Jim. “Ye’re out for Sherwood, I know. Well, Sherwood didn’t murder anybody. The shooting was done by a stranger from Quebec and Dave Brown and young Ben O’Dell are looking for him now in Quebec.”
“I ain’t been officially notified o’ that,” said Lunt. “As a private citizen I reckon it’s a lie—an’ as an officer of the law I couldn’t believe it anyhow. I’m here to do my duty.”
“Did you call me a liar, Mel?”
“I ain’t here to pick over my words with you nor no man. I’m here to do my duty.”