Part 18 (2/2)
”It's Fits--Mr. Fits himself!”
”I see you hain't forgot me!” snarled the fellow, as he slammed the door shut, dropped the bar in the place, and then stood with his back to that barrier.
”See here, you can't stay here,” declared d.i.c.k, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng.
”Can't, eh?” jeered the fellow. ”And what's going to stop me?”
”We are. You've no business here.”
”And if I don't see fit to go, my young bantam?”
”Then we'll put you out. We're smaller than you are, but there are seven of us--six, I mean,” d.i.c.k corrected, after a glance at quaking Hen.
”You'll find we can take care of you!”
”You kids, eh?” laughed Mr. Fits hoa.r.s.ely. ”Why, if you boys started in to climb over me I'd pick you off and scrunch you, like so many ants.
Just try it and see!”
To make his bragging good, Mr. Fits crossed the cabin, helping himself to the chair by the table.
”I see you've got plenty of grub here,” the big fellow went on. ”I'll bother you to make me some hot coffee and get me the best you have to eat. Step lively, too! Any younker that doesn't move fast enough I'll pick up and swat, and then I'll throw him out in the snow to stay.”
Saying which, with a savage snort, Mr. Fits rose and took off his overcoat, tossing it on to the next chair.
”What are you two whispering about?” demanded the rough intruder, eyeing Prescott and Darrin, who were now at the further end of the log cabin.
”Never you mind,” Dave retorted tartly.
”Don't give me any impudence, younker!” growled Fits.
”Then don't talk to us,” d.i.c.k advised.
”I can see that I've got to trim a couple of you,” muttered the intruder sourly. ”And then, too, I reckon my supper will be coming along faster.”
”You'll get no supper here,” d.i.c.k warned him.
”I won't, hey? Why not, I wonder?” leered the fellow.
”Because we have no poison to mix with the food,” Dave retorted.
”I'll have that grub, and some good coffee, set on mighty quick!”
growled the visitor. ”If that doesn't happen, then I'll run you all out into the snow. You won't last long out there, I warrant you! It's a fearful night.”
”Wait!” begged Hen Dutcher. ”I'll wait on you, sir.”
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