Matt Coyle and his family had not been silent all this while. They had kept up a constant storm of threats and abuse, and the squatter fairly danced with rage when he saw the boat, with which he had expected to accomplish so much in the way of "independent guidin'" was lost to him forever. But they did not attempt any more violence, for Roy stood guard over his companions with a potato in each hand, and ready to open fire on them at any moment.
"Now, then!" exclaimed Joe, as he pulled up the anchor while the other boys shipped their oars, "do you want these provisions, or don't you?"
"Course I want 'em," growled Matt, in reply. "They're mine, an' we ain't got no grub to eat."
"All right. I don't suppose that you have the shadow of a right to them, but we will give them up to you if you will do as we say."
"Wal, I won't do as you say, nuther," declared Matt. "I ain't goin' to let myself be bossed around by no 'ristocrats, I bet you."
"Then you shan't have the potatoes," said Joe, decidedly. "Give way, boys."
