d very angry at that. Mr.
Witherspoon faced him without a sign of alarm, even smiling, because
conscious of having given no reasonable cause for an assault.

"That cracking of his whip isn't going to scare us a bit," muttered the
pugnacious Josh; "he'd better not lay it on me for one, or any of my
chums, that's what!"

The man could hardly speak at first, from the effect of his anger,
together with his hasty rush from the road up to the camp. Then holding
his threatening whip in one hand he pointed a quivering finger straight
toward the fowls that they were expecting to have for their supper, and
which could no longer be concealed by Josh.

"So," bellowed the man, "now I know where the chickens that were stolen
from my coop last night went. Raidin' the farms up this way, are you? I
want to tell you it's going to be a bad job for every one of ye. I'll
have the law on ye if I have to go to Lenox and look every boy in town
over. And I'll know ye all again, if its a month from now."

He snapped the whip viciously as he stopped talking; but Mr.
Witherspoon did not seem to shrink back an inch. Looking the excited
farmer squarely in the eye the scout master started to speak.

"I judge from what you say, sir, that you have had the misfortune to
lose some of your poultry lately? I'm sorry to hear of it, but when you
come and accuse us of being the guilty parties you are making a serious
mistake, sir."

"Oh, am I?" demanded the other, still as furious as ever, though the
boys noticed that he made no effort to use the dreadful whip he
carried. "I lost some fowls, and you're expecting to have some chickens
for dinner. Anybody with hoss sense could put them facts together,
couldn't they? I ain't to be blarnied so easy, let me tell you."

"You seem to talk as though no one owned chickens up this Bear Mountain
way but yourself, sir," said Mr. Witherspoon, calmly. "These lads are
Boy Scouts. They are a part of the Lenox Troop, and I can vouch for
every one of them as being honest, and incapable of stealing any man's
fowls."

"You don't say, mister?" sneered the man; "but tell me, who's a-goin'
to vouch for you, now?"

"My name is Robert Witherspoon," replied the scout master, showing
wonderful self-control the boys thought, considering the insulting
manner of the angry farmer. "I am a civil engineer and surveyor. I love
boys every way I find them; and it is a pleasure to me to act as their
scout master, accompanying them on