Not a little surprised to hear his words repeated, the Yankee lost somewhat of his confidence as he replied, “well now sure-Ly, you officers didn’t think nothin’ o’ that—­I expect I was in a mighty rage to find my small bore gone, and I did curse a little hearty, to be sure.”

“The small bore multiplied in your absence,” observed Grantham; “when I looked at the hut there were two.”

“Then maybe you can tell who was the particular d——­d rascal that stole them,” said the settler eagerly.

Middlemore laughed heartily at his companion, who observed: 

“The particular d——­d rascal who removed, not stole them thence, stands before you.”

Again the Yankee looked disconcerted.  After a moment’s hesitation, he continued, with a forced grin, that gave an atrocious expression to his whole countenance: 

“Well now, you officers are playing a purty considerable spry trick—­it’s a good lark, I calculate—­but you know, as the saying is, enough’s as good as a feast.  Do tell me, Mr. Grantham,” and his discordant voice became more offensive in its effort at a tone of entreaty, “do tell me where you’ve hid my small bore—­you little think,” he concluded, with an emphasis then unnoticed by the officers, but subsequently remembered to have been perfectly ferocious, “what reason I have to vally it.”

“We never descend to larks of the kind,” coolly observed Grantham; “but as you say you value your rifle, it shall be restored to you on one condition.”

“And what may that be?” asked the settler, somewhat startled at the serious manner of the officer.

“That you show us what your canoe is freighted with.  Here in the bows I mean.”

“Why,” rejoined the Yankee quickly, but as if without design, intercepting the officers’ nearer approach, “that bag, I calculate, contains my provisions, and these here blankets that you see, peepin’ like from under the sail, are what I makes my bed of while out huntin’.”

“And are you quite certain there is nothing under those blankets?—­nay do not protest—­you cannot answer for what may have occurred while your back was turned, on your way to the hut for the rifle.”

“By hell,” exclaimed the settler, blusteringly, “were any man to tell me, Jeremiah Desborough, there was any thin’ beside them blankets in the canoe, I would lick him into a jelly, even though he could whip his own weight in wild cats.”

“So is it?  Now then, Jeremiah Desborough, although I have never yet tried to whip my own weight in wild cats, I tell you there is something more than those blankets; and what is more, I insist upon seeing what that something is.”