him angrily. “That is just the point we want to question ye about,” informed the third man in a low, cruel tone. “We intended to wait till mornin’, but I guess we can hold a term of court right now.”
“Where is this Charlie?” asked Pete, his tone uneasy despite his attempt at carelessness.
“He’s nearer than you think,” jeered Bub. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes for all the timber in Maine. My! but won’t he walk it to you. They say he chased a man clear across to Manitoba once and—”
“Shut up, ye young devil!” roared Joe, hurling a stick of firewood at Bub. The missile left a red streak on the youth’s forehead, and Stanley groaned aloud in mingled fear and fury. He believed Bub was to be murdered on the spot. But Joe was restrained from following up his assault by Pete, who advised:
“Take it easy. Don’t let the cub rasp ye. Time enough to-morrer. They ain’t been tied up long enough yet. Wait till mornin’, when they ache in every limb and are dying for a drink of water, let alone some of our beans.”
“You can kill us by inches, but we’ll say nothing to help you,” declared Stanley, passionately.
“Mebbe not; mebbe ye’ll change yer mind,”
