The squatter and his boys had dragged the canoe from the water, and were now carrying her back into the bushes where they knew the boys would not dare go after it.
Matt had not yet forgotten the tactics they used when he and his boys tried to club them out of their boat the year before. He was very much afraid of Roy, and when the latter ceased rowing and got upon his feet to see what had been done with the canoe, Matt and his allies ran into the woods like so many frightened turkeys.
“I’m onto your little game,” said the squatter in a triumphant tone, as he looked out from behind the tree that sheltered him. “You don’t fire no more taters at me if I know it. Your boat is here, an’ if you want it wusser’n we do, come an’ get it. ’Tain’t much account nohow.”
“I’m going to bust it into a million pieces to pay you fur that there whack you gin me with pap’s paddle a while ago,” shouted the invisible Jake, who would not show so much as the top of his cap to the boys in the skiff. “I’ve stood jest about all the poundin’ I’m goin’ to.”
“What did you do to him, Joe?” inquired Arthur, as he and Roy turned the skiff around and pulled back toward their anchorage.
“Matt threw his paddle at me when he saw that I was about to slip through his fingers, and I threw it back,” answered Joe. “It didn’t hit Matt, as I meant it should, but it came pretty near knocking Jake out of the scow.”
“The scow?” repeated Roy. “Have they got a boat of their own, I’d like to know.”
Joe replied that they had a boat in their possession (of course he didn’t know where they got it, or whether or not they had any right to call it their own), and then went on to tell of the exploit I had performed at the perch hole, and of the surprise that followed close upon the heels of it. He wound up his story by saying—
“I didn’t have time to draw up my anchor, so I had to go overboard. I swam the best I knew how in order to reach the bank before Matt did; then I raced a mile or more through the woods in my wet clothes, and that was what tired me out.”
“I wonder if we are to find that fellow hanging around every time we come into the woods?” said Roy, angrily. “Hallo, here!”
A slight splashing in the water drew their attention at the moment, and Joe and Arthur started up in alarm, expecting to find that the squatter and his boys had stolen a march upon them. There was a canoe close alongside of them, but the broad-shouldered, brown-whiskered man who handled the paddle was not Matt Coyle or any body like him. He was one of the hotel guides who had assisted in driving the squatter out of the Indian Lake country, and he was looking for him now.