But some four miles to the eastward lay a deep long swamp following the windings between hills where Mr. Kincaid and Bobby had a very disagreeable experience. It was late in the afternoon, so Bobby had become tired. Duke made game on the outskirts of a dense thicket, hesitated, then led the way cautiously into the tangle. "It's pretty thick," Mr. Kincaid advised Bobby; "you'd better sit on the stump there until I come out." Bobby did so. A moment or so after Mr. Kincaid had disappeared, the little boy became aware of a man approaching across the stump-dotted field. He was a short, thickset man, with a broad face almost entirely covered with a beard, a thick nose, and little, inflamed snapping eyes. He was clad in faded and dingy overalls, and carried a pitchfork. "Who's that shooting in here?" he shouted at Bobby as soon as he was within hearing. "What do you mean by hunting here? You must have passed right by the sign." "Don't you want shooting here? No; we didn't see the sign," replied Bobby. By this time the man had approached, and Bobby could see his bloodshot little eyes flickering with anger. "You lying little snipe," he roared. "You must have seen the sign. You couldn't help it. I've a mind to tan your hide good." "What's this?" asked Mr. Kincaid's quiet voice. The man whirled about. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he snarled. "Well, what do you mean by trespassing on my farm?" "I didn't know it was your farm, in the first place; and I didn't know shooting was prohibited in the second place." "That's too thin. You came right by that sign at the corner. Now just make tracks off this farm about as fast as you can go." "Certainly," agreed Mr. Kincaid, quite unruffled. "I never shoot on a man's land when he doesn't want me to." He turned, and at once the man became abusive, just as a dog gains courage as his enemy passes. Bobby listened, his eyes wide with dismay and shock. Never had he heard quite that sort of language. Finally Mr. Kincaid happened to glance down at his small companion. He slipped the shells from his gun and leaned it against a stump. "About face!" he said sharply to the man. "You can't talk that way before this baby. We are going off your place as straight and as fast as we can. You shoulder your pitchfork and go back to your house." The man started again on a string of objurgation. "I mean what I say," said Mr. Kincaid with deadly emphasis. "About face. If you open your mouth again I shall certainly kill you." The old man's bent shoulders had straightened, his mild blue eye flashed fire. So he must have looked to his soldiers before the storming of Molino del Rey. His hands were quite empty of a weapon, and his age was hardly a match for the other's brute strength. Nevertheless the farmer at once turned back, after a parting, but milder, admonition. Mr. Kincaid picked up his gun, tucked it under his arm and trudged forward. Bobby was trembling violently with excitement and anger.