"Hands up!" came a voice from the shadows beyond the fire.
While he was raising his arms so high that his cuffs were pulled half-way down to his elbows, Father was conscious that the hoboes by the fire, even the formidable Crook McKusick, were doing the same. Facing them, in the woods border, was a farmer in a coon-skin overcoat, aiming a double-barreled shot-gun, beside him two other farmers with rifles under their arms. It seemed to Father that he was in a wild Western melodrama, and he helplessly muttered, "Gosh! Can you beat it?"
The man with the leveled shot-gun drawled, "I'm the deputy sheriff for this locality and I'll give you dirty bums just five minutes to pick up your duffle and git out, and keep a-going. I guess we don't need you around here. You been robbing every hen-roost for ten miles. Now step lively, and no funny business."
"Stung!" muttered Crook McKusick, hopelessly. "Got us."
Suddenly a downy figure--who might herself have come from a large, peaceful human hen-roost--fluttered straight at the muzzle of the sheriff's shot-gun. It was Mother.
"Hands up, I told juh!" stormed the sheriff, amazedly.
"Oh, look _out_, Mother!" wailed Father, rushing after her, his own hands going down to his sides in his agitation.
"Look out, aunty!" echoed Crook McKusick. "That's a bad actor, that guy."
But Mother continued straight at the gun, snapping: "Don't point that dratted thing at me. You bother me."
The sheriff wavered. The gun dropped. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Never you mind who I am, young man. I'm responsible for these boys, though. And they promised me they wouldn't do no more stealing. They're going to work for what they get. And they got a right here on this land. They got permission. That's more than you got, I venture, with your nasty guns and all, coming around here-- Have you got a warrant?"
"Then you just step yourself away, young man! Coming here, fairly shaking a body's nerves. I vow, you almost scare me, carrying on-- Put down that dratted gun, I told you. You'll either go, Mr. Deputy Monkey, or I'll see your boss, and we'll see what we'll see."
With which Mother--who was rapidly becoming almost impolite in her indignation over this uninvited visit from a person whom she couldn't find it in her heart to like--seized the muzzle of the gun, pushed it down, and stood glowering at the sheriff, her arms akimbo.