"We want you, you infernal claim-jumper!" said McGill. "We'll show you
that you can't steal the land from us hard-working settlers, you set of
sneaks! Take off your clothes, and we'll give you a coat that will make
you look more like buzzards than you do now."
"There's some of 'em runnin' away!" yelled one of the crowd. "Catch
'em!"
There was a flight through the grass from the back of the shanty, a rush
of pursuit, some feeble yells jerked into bits by rough handling; and
presently, Celebrate and Surajah were dragged into the circle of light,
just as poor Ma Fewkes, with her shoulder-blades drawn almost together
came forward and tried to tear from her poor old husband's arm the hand
of an old neighbor of mine whose name I won't mention even at this late
day. I will not turn state's evidence notwithstanding the Statute of
Limitations has run, as N.V. Creede advises me, against any one but Dick
McGill--and the reason for my exposing him is merely tit for tat. Ma
Fewkes could not unclasp the hands; but she produced an effect just
the same.
"Say," said a man who had all the time sat in one of the wagons,
holding the horses. "You'd better leave out the stripping, boys!"
They began dragging the boys and the old man toward the tar-kettle, and
McGill, with his hat drawn down over his eyes, went to the slimy mass
and dipped into it a wooden paddle with which they had been stirring it.
Taking as much on it as it would carry, he made as if to smear it over
the old man's head and beard.
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