"Say!" cried Ike, brandishing the rod furiously and trying to intimidate his visitor with a furious demonstration, "what do you torment me for! Get out! I'm building a raft because I'm a persecuted, hunted being, driven like a rat into a hole. I want to float to safety past the towns, and go west. And I'm going to do it!"
"Why not walk?" suggested Ralph.
Ike flared a glance of dark suspicion at Ralph.
"And why such a big raft?" pursued Ralph smoothly—"no, you don't! Now then, since you've forced the issue, lie still."
Ike had suddenly sprung towards Ralph, swinging the iron rod. The latter was watching him, however. In a flash he had the bad boy disarmed, lying flat on the ground, and sat astride of him, pinioning his arms outspread at full length.
Ralph gave a sharp, clear whistle. Van came rushing down the bank in the distance in response.
Ike Slump raved like a madman. He threatened, he pleaded. He even took refuge in tears. All the time, Ralph Fairbanks was making up his mind. That partially built raft had roused his suspicions very keenly, had suggested a new line of action, and he determined to follow out the promptings of his judgment.
