Mr. Hewes took out his watch. "Is there any one working in your uncle's mine on Tumble Ridge to-day?" inquired, casually.
"No, not to-day," said William. "They're doing something else. I think—"
George plucked him by the sleeve, and his mouth closed like a trap.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Mr. Hewes, who appeared much relieved at what he heard. "To make it equal, you take his ears and scalp, the way all hunters do, and I will keep the rest."
He leaned over, and deftly cut the skin from around the catamount's head, and handed the trophy to the two young warriors. They bowed politely, and taking up the remains of their old friend, the Queen Anne pistol, went off down the hill.
Mr. Hewes gazed after them. "There's an odd lot," he said to himself. "By Saint George, if their uncle were made of stuff like them, there'd be no trouble between us, I'll wager safe enough."
He turned on his heel and went up the path to where the strange party was hiding in the bushes. There was another tall man there with a rifle over his shoulder, and most of the men were fully armed.
Mr. Hewes told of the adventure in a few words, and the party moved forward to the scene of the short conflict.
At dinner that evening the boys were so subdued that Mr. Wyeth wondered what could have happened. Uncle Daniel's questions were answered in monosyllables.
Just as they all were about to leave the table, a rumbling explosion shook the air, coming from the direction of the disputed territory.