"Wal, I was a-huntin' fur a painter when I fall'd, nigh head fust, inter a hole all kivered up with vines an' sich truck—an' you was the kind o' a painter it were, eh?"
"An' ye kin see how he's went an' scratched hisself," added Pete. "Griffin said he seen some one 'arly this mornin' sneakin' 'bout; an' now we know 'twas ye. Git ready, feller!"
"Ready for what?"
Pete dashed his slouch hat violently on the ground, and pushed Tom Smull aside.
"Bust it! Ye've got ter wrastle with me fur that, feller," he yelled, "an' thar ain't nobody here what's big nuff ter prewent it—see?"
His muscular arms were suddenly wrapped around Dick Travers' shoulders, when:
"Let that boy alone, Colliver!" sounded a ringing voice.
Instantly the stocky lad's hand was stayed. Turning swiftly, he saw Dave Brandon confronting him.