"Wal, wal! If that ain't the limit. Says as how he done it; that's sumphin fur you, pard."
Smull, whose ill-favored visage was crisscrossed with scratches, clenched a huge fist.
"D'ye know what ye done, boy?" he demanded, fiercely.
"If you'll tell me, I will," answered Dick.
"He carries his spunk with him, all right," remarked Buck James, admiringly.
This frank opinion did not find favor with Tom Smull. Placing himself before Dick Travers, and waving a stubby finger beneath his nose, he snarled, angrily:
"D'ye see them scratches on me face, boy?"
"Guess I could see 'em a mile away," answered Dick, coolly.
"Ha, ha—ho, ho!" roared Mr. James, slapping his knees. "Ho, ho! Ye ain't smart nuff for 'im, Tommy; ye'd best quit it."
Smull, taking no notice of the interruption, went on in louder, more warlike tones: