“Want to see us, did you?” asked Chub, cheerfully.
“Ye-es,” drawled the farmer, “I wanted to have a few words with ye.”
“We are deeply honored, sir. Tell the gentleman how deeply honored we are, Roy.” But Roy only growled. The farmer sniffed.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“We’re coming aboard,” replied Chub, making ready to leap the yard of water that intervened between shore and boat.
“You just stay where you are,” said the farmer, patting his gun stock significantly.
“But that’s our boat!” cried Roy, wrathfully.
“Maybe, maybe; chances are you stole it, though,” replied Mr. Ewing, calmly.
“Well, you’re the most suspicious man I ever did see,” declared Chub, disgustedly. “Suppose we insist on going aboard; what’s going to happen?”
“I might have to put a load of buckshot in your legs,” answered the farmer, showing his yellow fangs in a grim smile. “This boat is confiscated.”
“You don’t say? What for?”
