They always had the fear of the law before their eyes, and lived in a state of anxiety and apprehension that could hardly have been endured by any one else.
“Here he is, all right an’ tight,” said Jake, laying hold of the rope with which he had tied me together and hauling me out of the thicket. “Ole Swan didn’t go to pokin’ around through the bresh like I was afeared he would. Come out here. You’ve got to help me steal some more bacon an’ ’taters to-night.”
“Don’t you let Joe Wayring an’ the rest of them fellers sneak up an’ take him away from you, like they done the last time you went out with him to steal bacon an’ ’taters,” cautioned Sam. “Them boys ain’t gone home yet, an’ I shan’t rest easy till they do. As long as they stay snoopin’ around in these woods where they ain’t wanted they’re liable to drop down on us at any minute.”
“I don’t want ’em to go home till I get a chance to squar’ up with Joe for hittin’ me in the face with pap’s paddle,” said Jake, who seemed to think that a greater insult could not have been put upon him. “I shall allers remember that agin him. Now le’s go back to our ole camp an’ see what Swan an’ his crowd done there arter we left.”
So saying Jake led the way into the evergreens, carrying me on his shoulder. A single glance at the place where the camp had been was enough to show that the guides had done their work well. There was nothing left of the lean-to, the bedding, and the small supply of provisions that Matt and his family had abandoned, except a little pile of ashes.
“This is a purty way for them rich folks to treat poor chaps like us, ain’t it?” said Sam, bitterly. “What business did they have to go an’ do it? We’ve just as much right to be guides here as Swan has.”
“Well, I don’t reckon him an’ his crowd hurt us any wuss than we hurt them,” observed Jake. “Them fish-poles an’ other things that we flung into the bresh an’ sunk in the bay must have cost a good many dollars, an’ we’ve got two of their best boats besides.”
“But them boats won’t do us anymore good than the two guns we’ve got hid in the bresh,” answered Sam. “Le’s go an’ take a look at them guns an’ see if they are all right.”
The hollow log in which the stolen weapons had been stowed away for safe keeping was at least a quarter of a mile from the thicket that had furnished me with a hiding-place, but Jake and his brother went straight to it; and after removing a few bushes and chunks of wood that had been scattered carelessly around the end of the log to conceal the opening, the former put in his hand and pulled out a Victoria case which contained the Lefever hammerless. Passing it over to his brother, Jake again thrust his arm into the hollow and brought to light the stolen Winchester, wrapped in a tattered blanket. When their coverings were removed I took a good look at them. They were the handsomest things in the shape of guns I ever saw, and I did not wonder that their rightful owners were so anxious to get them back.