Kim up here an' steal my
skins, will ye? Thar's another fur ye. Oh, howl all ye want to, I'm
larnin' ye a lesson."
The hearty kicks with which he punctuated this speech brought forth a
whoop of pain from the recipient on each occasion.
"Why, it's Pet Peters!" exclaimed Frank.
There was a snap.
"Thank you!" cried Will, with a satisfied grin; he had succeeded
in taking a snapshot of the struggling couple while their faces
were exposed.
"It'll do as evidence when I want ter send this critter to jail, which
I'll sartin do if he ever comes a foolin' 'round my traps agin. I bet
that snake Bud Rabig set him up ter it. Skeered to come hisself, an'
sends a boy. Now, you git!"
This time the kick was so tremendous that it actually lifted Andy
Lasher's crony clear off his feet, and started him in a mad flight along
the edge of the swamp. As he ran wildly he kept bellowing in pain, and
holding both hands back of him.
The temptation was more than Will could stand, and another "click"
announced that he had secured a second retreating view of the poacher.
"At this rate I'll soon have my six rolls done," he announced,
triumphantly.
"What harm did he do?" asked Frank.
The trapper made an investigation.
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