Читать книгу The Young Game-Warden онлайн

11 страница из 41

A few minutes later Silas reached his home. Dropping the reins and whip to the ground, he bolted into the cabin, closing the door behind him.

ssss1

"Toot! toot! t-o-ot!"

This was the third time the horn had been blown—first warningly, then persuasively, and at last angrily.

The hunters on the other side of the river, who had been trying for more than twenty minutes to bring the ferryman over to them, were beginning to get impatient. So was Joe Morgan, the ferryman's youngest son—a sturdy, sun-browned boy of fifteen, who stood in the flat, holding one of the heavy sweeps in his hand, all ready to shove off.

He looked toward the men on the opposite shore, and then he looked at his brother, who sat on the bank, with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands.

"There's eighty cents in that load," said Joe, who was in a great hurry to respond to the angry blasts of the horn. "If they get tired of waiting, and go down to the bridge, we shall be just that much out of pocket."