“Yes,” growled Henry. “You’ve got the drop on me—just now!”
The way he replaced the rifle and climbed into the tilting canoe, as well as the tone in which his husky words were spoken, indicated that this was only one time, that there would be more.
“Let’s turn back,” suggested Tom, dubiously.
“No! Forget his crazy stunt!” urged Bill. “Any day that I can’t handle a loon like him, I’ll eat scorpions’ tails!”
“But he gets so angry!” said Tom. “And he’s got a bottle——”
“Getting angry is better for us—as long as we keep cool!” Bill grinned, his rifle lazily resting on the canoe’s edge. “A cool man can out-guess, out-plan, out-shoot a fellow in a temper, any day! As for that bottle—watch it splinter the first time it starts for his lips.”
Bill motioned to the Indians, who had hardly moved, and who had certainly not spoken or changed expression. “Go on!” he said. Tom thought that just a hint of admiration showed in the faces of the five paddling their own craft.
“And you saved his life on the boat, when that wave washed him down,” grunted Bill.
“And I’d do it again!” said Tom.
Little he guessed how prophetic his words would prove to be!