nst a
tree on the shore fully fifty yards behind them.

"Stop!" he cried, with so confident a tone of authority that the
kneeling man looked up, though with a sneer on his face. "Unless you
go away from this pond at once, I'll get the men from the camp, and
they'll make you go. They'll not be so polite as I am. You're just
poachers, anyway. And the boys will like as not just run you clean out
of the country. Will you do as I ask you, or shall I go and get
them?"

The man with the axe spat out some French curse which the Boy didn't
understand very clearly. But the man at the stakes jumped up again
with a dangerous grin.

"You'll stay right where you are, sonny, till we're done with you," he
snarled. "You understand? You're a-goin' to git hurt ef ye gits in our
way any! See?"

The Boy was now in a white rage; but he kept his wits cool and his
eyes watchful. He realized at this moment that he was in great danger;
but, his mettle being sound, this only made him the more resolute.

"All right. You've decided!" he said slowly. "We'll see what the boys
will have to say about it."

As he spoke he made a movement as if to turn, but without taking his
eyes from the enemy. The movement just served to swing his little
Winchester into a readier position.

At his first move the man with the axe took a step forward, and swung
up his axe with a peculiar gesture which the Boy understood. He had
seen the woodsmen throw their axes. He knew well their quickness and
their deadly precision. But quickness and precision with the little
Winchester were his own especial pride,--and, after all, he had not
turned any further than was just right for a good shot. Even as the
axe was on the verge of leaving the poacher's hand, the rifle cracked
sharply. The poacher yelled a curse, and his arm dropped. The axe flew
wide, landing nowhere near its aim. On the instant both the
half-breeds turned, and raced for their rifles on the shore.

"Stop, or I'll shoot you both!" shouted the Boy, now with embarrassment
added to his wrath. In their wild fury at being so balked by a boy,
both men trusted to his missing his aim--or to the hope that his gun
was not a repeater. They ignored his command, and rushed on. The Boy
was just going to shoot again, aiming at their legs; when, to his
amazement and inconceivable relief, out from behind the tree where the
poachers' rifles leaned, came Jabe.

Snatching up one of the guns, he echoed the Boy's command.