Part 22 (2/2)

”Certainly; help yourself,” said he, in a smooth tone of mocking politeness, thrusting his foot a little way forward. ”I always like to have a n.i.g.g.e.r take care of my shoes for me.”

The crowd laughed uproariously and the ruffian sprang to his feet and slapped Al across the mouth.

”Take 'em off yerself an' hand 'em to me!” he shouted.

Al looked around at the other men.

”If you will untie my hands and leave me free to use them,” said he, ”I will hand you my shoes,--and something more.” He glanced significantly at the guerilla's still uninjured eye.

Again the crowd laughed, and approvingly. It was evident that Al's fearless behaviour pleased them, and his tormentor became correspondingly enraged. Again he struck his defenceless antagonist across the mouth. But at this moment a short, broad-shouldered little man stepped out from among the onlookers and sauntered over to the cowardly ruffian. One of his hands was thrust into his pants' pocket and in the other he carried a huge revolver which looked almost as long as himself. This terrifying weapon he raised and brushed its muzzle deliberately back and forth across the tip of the other man's nose, which was nearly a foot above the top of his own head.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bill Cotton protects Al from the guerilla]

”Now, look here, Daddy Longlegs,” said he, in a persuasive tone, ”you let this kid alone or I'll blow you into the river. These boys are game; an', by jinks, I'm goin' to see that they're treated decent from now on.

Everybody take notice.”

He swept a calm, authoritative glance around over the crowd, spat upon the ground, stuck his revolver back into its holster and, with both hands now in his pockets, strolled back to the tree whence he had come, and sat down.

Yeager laughed nervously, seeming to fear the effect of this exhibition of authority on the part of some one beside himself.

”I was just goin' to say that,” he remarked.

The little man looked at him and his lip curled slightly.

”Yes, you were!” said he, derisively, and Yeager made no further comment, while Al's persecutor sneaked away sheepishly, muttering to himself.

There was a moment of embarra.s.sed silence, and while it lasted there emerged from the woods behind the motley company a figure which hurried toward the guerilla captain officiously. As soon as they saw it, the boys smiled in unison.

”Here's Jim!” exclaimed Wallace. ”Now we'll catch it!”

The deck hand glanced toward them, then, with a look of relief, said to Yeager,

”Well, you got 'em, I see, Captain.”

”Yes, yes, I got 'em,” replied Yeager, starting from thought and eying Jim uneasily. ”Much obliged to you fer puttin' me on.”

”Oh, sure; that's all right,” exclaimed Jim, beaming on him. ”I hate a Yank worse 'n pizen.”

He turned and, walking over, faced Al and Wallace.

”Nice day, ain't it?” he inquired, with a sneer. ”How do you kids like it? You ain't doin' no fancy boxin' to-day, Al Briscoe, are yeh?”

”Well, well; my dear old friend, James!” exclaimed Al, in affected surprise. ”Aren't you the proud boy, though, over this great victory?”

”None o' yer freshness, now,” cried Jim, doubling up his fists, threateningly, ”er I'll mash yeh one.”

”Here, here!” cried Yeager, loudly. ”Don't abuse the prisoners!”

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