“Hasn’t he, though!” cried Bob.  “He got into my father’s smoke-house last night and stole some meal and bacon.  He forced a lock to do it, too.  The law can touch him for that, can’t it?”

David leaned against the fence and looked at the two boys without speaking.  He did not doubt Bob’s story.  He had been expecting to hear of such things for a long time.  He had told himself more than once that when his father grew tired of living on squirrels, somebody’s smoke-house and corn-crib would be sure to suffer.  Godfrey was getting worse every day, and something told David that he would yet perform an act that would set every man in the settlement on his track.

“We can send him to prison,” continued Bob.  “You would not like that, of course, and you can prevent it if you feel like it.  Lester and I are the only ones who know that he robbed my father last night, and we will keep it to ourselves on one condition.”

“I know what it is,” said David.  “You want me to promise that I will trap no more quails.  Perhaps you want the money yourselves.”

“That’s the very idea,” said Lester.

“It isn’t the money we care about,” exclaimed Bob, quickly.  “We’ve set out to put down this business of trapping birds and shipping them out of the country, and we’re going to do it.  You think that because Don and Bert are backing you up, you can do just as you please; but we’ll show you that they don’t run this settlement.  You’re getting above your business, Dave, and it is high time you were taught a lesson you will remember the longest day you live.  What do you say?  Will you trap any more quails?”

“Yes, I will,” replied David, without an instant’s hesitation.

“Don’t forget that we can put the constable on your father’s track to-morrow morning,” said Bob, his voice trembling with rage.

“I wasn’t thinking of my father.  He has made his bed and he must lie in it.  I was thinking of my mother.  She must have something to eat and wear this winter, and how is she to get it, if I give up this chance of making a little money?”

“Just listen to you, now!” Bob almost shouted.  “One would think to hear you talk that you are used to handling greenbacks by the bushel.  You are a pretty looking ragamuffin to call a hundred and fifty dollars ‘a little money,’ are you not?  It’s more than your old shantee and all you’ve got in it are worth.  Go on!” he yelled, shaking his riding whip at David, as the latter hurried down the road toward home.  “I’ll send you word when to come down to the landing and see your father go off to jail.”

“I never saw such independence exhibited by a fellow in his circumstances,” said Lester, as he and Bob rode away together.  “One would think he was worth a million dollars.”

“He thinks he will soon be worth a hundred and fifty, and that’s what ails him,” answered Bob, whose face was pale with fury.  “But there’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip, as he will find before he is many days older.  I’ll tell my father to-night what Godfrey Evans did, and as soon as it grows dark we’ll go down to that cabin and carry off all the birds we can catch.  The rest we will liberate.”