“Well, George, you may do that yet, old fellow, for here we have all come to take our Sunday dinner.  You are not in the notion that we shall let you take possession here so easily, without even sending us word, and paying us no rent—­no compensation?”

“Why, no, Wat—­I knew you and your boys too well for that.  I did look, you see, to have a bit of a brush, and have made some few preparations to receive you with warmth and open arms,” was the response of Dexter, pointing as he spoke to the well-guarded condition of his intrenchments, and to his armed men, who were now thickly clustering about him.

Munro saw plainly that this was no idle boast, and that the disposition of his enemy’s force, without some stratagem, set at defiance any attack under present circumstances.  Still he did not despair, and taught in Indian warfare, such a position was the very one to bring out his energies and abilities.  Falling back for a moment, he uttered a few words in the ear of one of his party, who withdrew unobserved from his companions, while he returned to the parley.

“Well, George, I see, as you have said, that you have made some preparations to receive us, but they are not the preparations that I like exactly, nor such as I think we altogether deserve.”

“That may be, Wat—­and I can’t help it.  If you will invite yourselves to dinner, you must be content with what I put before you.”

“It is not a smart speech, Dexter, that will give you free walk on the high road; and something is to be said about this proceeding of yours, which, you must allow, is clearly in the teeth of all the practices prevailing among the people of the frontier.  At the beginning, and before any of us knew the value of this or that spot, you chose your ground, and we chose ours.  If you leave yours or we ours, then either of us may take possession—­not without.  Is not this the custom?”

“I tell you what, Munro, I have not lived so long in the woods to listen to wind-guns, and if such is the kind of argument you bring us, your dumpy lawyer—­what do you call him?—­little Pippin, ought to have been head of your party.  He will do it all day long—­I’ve heard him myself, at the sessions, from mid-day till clean dark, and after all he said nothing.”

“If you mean to persuade yourself, George, that we shall do no more than talk for our lands and improvements, you are likely to suffer something for your mistake.”

“Your ‘lands and improvements!’ Well, now, I like that—­that’s very good, and just like you.  Now, Wat, not to put you to too much trouble, I’d like to look a little into your title to the lands; as to the improvements, they’re at your service whenever you think proper to send for them.  There’s the old lumber-house—­there’s the squatter’s house—­there’s where the cow keeps, and there’s the hogsty, and half a dozen more, all of which you’re quite welcome to.  I’m sure none of you want ’em, boys—­do you?”