"You ought to know better'n
that. And the officers know better, too; I may be only a boy,
but the officers are out in packs, hunting for me. I know, for
I've seen two pairs of those fellows go by on the road to-day."
"Are you going to be a man, Tag, or just a sneaking coward?" asked
Dick, as he rose.
"Sit down!" commanded Tag sharply.
"If you really want to talk with me, and will say 'please,' I'll
sit down," Dick smiled back coolly at the angry boy. "But if
you're just simply ordering me to sit down, then I won't do anything
of the sort. Do you want to talk with me?"
"Sit down!"
"You didn't say 'please.'"
"I'm not going to say it."
"Then good-bye for a little while."
Though the muzzles of the sawed-off shotgun stared wickedly at
him, Dick Prescott turned on his heel, walking off.
"Are you going, now, to tip the officers off that you've seen
me?" called Tag.
"Yes."
Behind Dick, as he kept on his way back toward camp there came
a snort of anger. Prescott was not quite as cool as he appeared
to be. He knew there was at least a chance that savage Tag Mosher
would send the contents of one or both barrels of the gun into
his back. Dick, however, had mastered the first secret of bravery,
which is to conceal one's fear.
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