Before John Hackett could comprehend what was happening, an enormous hand gripped him by the collar.
"I'll learn you to be shooting my tame ducks and decoys," roared a deep voice, and the amazed "Hatchet" found himself in a position unfortunately like that of a rat caught by a terrier. The big hand moved rapidly back and forth, John going with it.
His furious struggles were of no avail.
"Don't stand around like a lot of noodles, fellows," screamed the unfortunate youth, at the top of his voice, during a lull in the proceeding; "wait till I get loose!"
A vigorous shove sent him sliding beside his gun, which lay in the tall grass.
The whole affair had taken place in a few brief moments. With a savage exclamation, accompanied by a threatening wave of his hand, the tall youth silenced the snarling and excited dogs.
"I'm a-going to have the whole gang of you took up," declared the big man, hoarsely. "I can stand being stole from, which more than one has tried to do, but I don't keer to have my property blowed into little bits fer nothin'."
"Ha, ha," laughed Nat Wingate; "I wish—"
"Now don't begin any sass, fer I'm that mad I could—"
He was, in turn, interrupted. "Have you got 'em, Stevy?" screamed a shrill voice, and a stout woman of not unprepossessing mien, panting and breathless, came hurrying up.