“We give three dollar, Sam, and you stay with us. If not and somebody comes you get nothing but this.” The man slapped his pocket. “But no, we friends, eh? And you will shoot?”
“You bet I will!” said Gus, and meant it. But whom would he shoot? He was not saying.
The man went toward the building and presently came back with a modern, high-powered rifle. He edged off through the woods to the left. After a while he came back with another fellow and they fell to talking in a language which Gus could not understand. They stopped for the new man to look Gus over and the boy turned his head to gaze at none other than his late schoolmate and bitter antagonist, Luigi Malatesta!
The general resemblance between the two men made Gus know that he had been talking to the older brother. Luigi, the younger, went off. At that distance he could not have recognized Gus, though for one moment the boy had a queer feeling, a real bit of fright, but not enough to rob him of the quick sense to be ready with his gun if his enemy had guessed his identity. On second thought Gus felt pretty sure that if he kept his ragged hat well pulled down Luigi would never know him.
And Gus was tremendously elated, so much so that he could hardly keep from prancing or slapping himself; but the danger of what he meant to do, and to do quickly, kept him from undue exuberance.
The elder Malatesta brought one other fellow, evidently an American, to take a squint at Gus. Gus called the Italian over:
“How many of you got here, hey? I don’t want t’ shoot one of——”
“Not any more; three of us; you four.”
“What is all this fuss fer?” asked Gus.
The fellow seemed to ponder a moment. “I tell you,” he said, as though with sudden conviction. “In the hut yonder is crazy man. Our brother, yes. We love heem, ver’ much. But he malsano—insane—lika fury. And we disgrazia. But he not go to a silo—hospital and treat bad. Oh, no! We swear it! They want getta heem. We hid heem and give heem treatment—medicine, lika say great doctore. Doctore come two day—more tardo. We guard brother ver’ fierce—fight—fight! No let go—no let policeaman come. See?”