"Oh, come, Nat," returned Bob, calmly; "you seem to have misunderstood the matter entirely. Look at it in a sensible fashion."
But Nat had worked himself up into a towering rage, and refused to be conciliated.
"You'll wish you had let me join," he shouted. "I never swallowed all those insults you gave me without making up my mind to pay the crowd back. And I'll remember you, too, old Zeke Tipson. Get out of here."
Had Nat looked at the "Major" he might have seen that his sharp eyes were glaring in a most peculiar fashion. The two had had several encounters, and whenever Zeke calculated the amount of damage resulting therefrom, it made him very angry indeed.
"Get out of here yourself," he cried. "I won't stand any impudence, mind you—go on, now."
Accompanying these words, he made several movements with his stick, which brought it dangerously close to Nat's ankles.
"Hold on!" protested Bob Somers. "We don't want any trouble here."
"No, no!" chimed in Brandon.
But Nat, thoroughly enraged, sprang forward with fist upraised. "I'll teach you some manners, you miserable beggar!" he shouted, with flashing eyes.
Zeke parried the blow. Then the angry man jumped forward while Nat, well aware of the fact that he was no match for him, leaped aside.