“No,” said Peterson at last in a frightened husky voice. “No, it ain’t mine, Jake.”
“Then what the—?” The stranger made one stride toward Hugh and caught his shoulder in a grasp that made the bones grind together. The boy looked about him desperately, surely some one of all these men would come forward to his aid. He saw pity in the eyes of many of them, and one or two making a movement toward him and then drawing back. It needed only that to prove to him at last that this was the much-feared Pirate of Jasper Peak.
Yet before either could move further, before Jake could finish his question, help came from an unexpected quarter. The door beside them opened and closed quickly, and Linda Ingmarsson came in. The wind had blown her yellow hair from under her kerchief, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes bright. She made a single step to Hugh’s side and laid her strong, firm fingers on Jake’s crushing hand. He withdrew it as quickly as though something had stung him.
“So you are at your old bullying ways,” she
