“And furthermore,” continued Joe, “I tell you, for the last time, that I don’t know any thing about that money. I never saw it.”
“Whoop!” shouted Jake, going off into another war-dance. “You have seed it, an’ you know all about it. You had them two grip-sacks into your baskets, you an’ your friends did, when you left Injun Lake to come up yer. Tom Bigden said so.”
“Whoop!” yelled Matt, in his turn. “Now you’ve done it, you fule! Didn’t that Bigden boy say plain enough that he didn’t want you to speak his name at all? See if that won’t put some gumption into your thick head; an’ that, an’ that! I’ll learn you to find six thousand dollars, an’ go an’ hide it from your pap, an’ then let fellers like Joe Wayring steal it from you, you ongrateful scamp.”
[Illustration: ARTHUR HASTINGS’ FORTUNATE ARRIVAL.]
Jake was generally on the lookout for sudden bursts of fury on the part of his sire, but this time he was taken by surprise. Before he could dodge or stir an inch from his tracks, he received a most unmerciful beating, one that gave me a faint idea of what was in store for Joe Wayring. When he turned to run, the face he presented to our view was bleeding in half a dozen places.
“There, now,” exclaimed Matt, who was almost frantic. “Go an’ hide some more money from your pap, an’ blab when you was told to hold your jaw, won’t you? Now that I have got my hand in, I reckon I might as well finish with you,” he continued, turning back and taking his stand behind the prisoner. “Once more I ax you: Will you tell me where you have hid that money?”
“I have nothing more to say,” replied Joe, in an unfaltering voice.
The answer added fuel to the fire of Matt’s rage. He moistened his hand and seized the switch with a firmer hold, while Joe turned his face to the tree and nerved himself to receive the expected blow. That was more than Arthur Hasting could endure; but it brought his scattered wits back to him. In an instant his double barrel was at his shoulder, and his flashing eye was looking along the rib.
“Hold on there!” he shouted. “If you touch that boy I will put more holes through you than you ever saw in a skimmer. Throw down that gad and stand where you are.”
The effect of these words was magical. Jake Coyle, whose doleful howls of anguish had awakened a thousand echoes among the surrounding hills, suddenly ceased his lamentations; the white face of Joe Wayring turned toward us lighted up with hope; and Matt and Sam looked at Arthur and his threatening gun with eyes that seemed to have grown to the size of saucers. For a second or two no one moved or spoke; then one of the three marauders gave a perfect imitation of the cry of alarm the mother grouse utters when her brood is menaced with danger, whereupon Matt and his boys disappeared in the most bewildering way. They were seen to drop where they stood, and that was the last of them. Although Arthur rose to his feet as quickly as he could and Roy plied the paddle with all his strength, they did not catch another glimpse of the squatter, nor was there the slightest rustling in the bushes to tell which way he and his allies had gone.