“Mr. Grant is very courageous—when he has a gun in his hands,” he sneered. “At any other time he’s a——”
“You’ve said that before,” interrupted Rod in a tone that made Berlin start a bit in spite of himself. “Be careful that you don’t say it once too often.”
Barker shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I don’t have to say it; every fellow in Oakdale knows what you are. Come, Silver Tongue—come, sir. Come on, fellows; there are plenty of other places to run rabbits.”
“And, counting yourself and your friends, you make a fine bunch of dogs for the purpose,” Lander flung after them.
In a few moments Barker and his companions disappeared into the woods, and soon the muttering of their voices died out in the distance.
“How’d you get here, anyhow, Roddy?” questioned Bunk, with a grin. “We left you ’way back yonder.”
“Yes,” nodded Grant; “but I reckoned there wouldn’t be much shooting over there, so I pulled my picket pin and moved. Here’s another rabbit for that stew.”
“By jinks! Bunk,” said Spotty, “we ain’t shot one yet. We took him out to show him how ’twas done, and he’s showed us.”
“He showed Barker, too, I guess,” chuckled Lander. “Say, it done me good making that bunch turn tail and dig out. ’Tain’t more’n a mile to my camp, if it’s that fur; let’s strike over that way, for I’ll have an appetite by the time we can dress the rabbits and the partridge and get the stew cooked.”
“I’ve an appetite now,” declared Rod. “I’ve enjoyed the sport this morning very much indeed.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Sunday morning, between the hours of nine and ten, Spotty Davis knocked at the door of Miss Priscilla Kent. The spinster, dressed in plain black alpaca, admitted him when he asked to see Rodney.
“You’ll find my nephew in his room right up at the head of the stairs,” she said. “Rap on the door. I don’t think he’ll have much time to talk to ye, though.”
Spotty’s knuckles on the door panel brought Grant, half dressed and wondering.
“Hello!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You? I wondered who it could be. My visitors are sure getting amazing plentiful.”
“Kinder thought I’d come round and chin with ye this morning,” he grinned. “Sunday’s always a punk day fur me. I hate the sound of church bells. Went to see Bunk, but he’d gone off somewhere a’ready.”