When young Halstead next knew anything his mind was hazy at first. He
realized dimly, and then more clearly, that he was upon some one's
shoulder, being carried. There was a buzzing, too, over his right ear,
where his head throbbed dully and ached.
As he opened his eyes wider he saw that he was being carried along under
trees and over rising ground.
Then his thoughts became clearer and he felt certain it was none other
than Captain Jonas French who was carrying him. Some one else, probably
Alvarez, was treading the ground behind him.
Halstead gave a sigh, then murmured:
"Put me down!"
They were luckless words, for French vented but the one syllable,
"Right," then dropped him to the ground and sat on him.
"Don't make the mistake of trying to make any noise, either," growled
the once florid-faced one. "No one could hear you here except us, but
we'll take noise as an evidence of unkind disposition on your part."
"Tie him," murmured Don Emilio, standing over the boy.
Without making any response in words, French rolled the boy over on his
face. Tom didn't attempt to resist. He was too weak; his strength was
just beginning to come back. French knotted a rope around his wrists,
held behind him, then quickly lashed the young skipper's ankles
together.
"And this!" insisted Alvarez. A gag composed of two handkerchiefs was
forced between Halstead's lips and made fast there.
"Now, my meddling boy, you may be as unpleasant as you please," mocked
Don Emilio Alvarez, bending over and smiling into Halstead's face. "Ah,
you have been troublesome to us--very. And you have inquired what I
would do to you if I had you down in Honduras, where they do things
differently. Ah, well! Perhaps, my meddling boy, you shall discover what
I would do to you! Will you, my large friend, lift him and carry him on
again? We are not far from the place where we can keep him securely
enough."
With a grunt French once more shouldered his burden, tramping on through
the forest, Alvarez still bringing up the rear. Then, from the crest of
a rise they pressed between a fringe of bushes and next began to descend
a narrow, rocky path. They stopped in a ravine, densely grown with
trees.
"Even in the daytime this place is hardly likely to be found by prying
eyes," laughed Alvarez confidently. "And now, my captain, you might rid
yourself of the meddling boy."
French dropped Tom at the base of a young spruce tree, knotting another
cord to his feet and passing it around the trunk of the tree.
"He won't get away--can't, even though we were to leave him here through
the night," muttered French gruffly.
"And I, since my meddling boy found for me the tobacco pouch that I
dropped in his path for bait, will enjoy a smoke once more," laughed
Senor Alvarez. He rolled a cigarette, which he soon was puffing. French,
having filled a pipe, lighted that and stretched himself at full length.
Thus several minutes went by. Tom Halstead, unable to talk, spent his
energies in wondering whether Ted Dunstan was anywhere in the near
neighborhood.
After many minutes had passed the deep silence of this wild spot was
broken by an owl hoot. Alvarez, raising his head, answered by a similar
hoot. Then from the distance came two hoots.
"Come, we will go forward to meet our friends," proposed the swarthy
little man eagerly, as he sprang to his feet. French got up more
lumberingly, though almost as quickly. Together they trod up to the head
of the ravine. Out of the darkness ahead came Pedro and a little brown
man who looked as much like a Spaniard as Alvarez did.
"We'se done brought yo' dis," stated Pedro with a grin that showed his
big, white teeth.
"This" was Joe Dawson, his hands tied behind him, his face as sullen as
a storm cloud in a summer shower. Joe was walking, led by Pedro, and
pushed at times by the brown man.
"Ho, ho!" laughed Alvarez, in keen relish. "You have not done badly. You
bring me the other meddling boy. Halt him here--so. Tie him against this
tree that he may have a chance to lean." Alvarez watched until Joe had
been moored fast, then asked:
"How many did you come out with to-night?"
"Guess!" proposed Joe pleasantly.
"Don't dare to be impertinent, boy!" warned Don Emilio, his eyes
flashing. "Answer me straight, and--what do you call it?--to the point,
as you Americans say."
"Lemon?" laughed Joe Dawson coolly. "No, thank you. I always take
vanilla."
"Boy, if you get me any more angry," stormed Don Emilio, "you will
regret it."
But Dawson merely looked at the swarthy, false-bearded little man with
an air of boredom.
"Let me handle him," proposed Jonas French, stepping forward.
"I'll be glad if you will wait on me," drawled Joe, looking at the
larger man. "I don't believe this little fellow knows his business or
his goods."
With an angered cry Don Emilio darted in, striking his cool tormentor
across the face.
"Hold on," objected Joe lazily, "I didn't ask to be called until nine
o'clock."
"Are you going to stop this nonsense?" demanded Don Emilio, his voice
quavering with wrath.
"Dawson," remarked French, "you don't appear to realize your fix."
Joe stared at him haughtily, remarking:
"My bill is not due until the end of the week. Go away and let me read
in peace."
Pedro, in the background, was holding one hand over his broad mouth to
hide his expansive grin over this cool nonsense. But Don Emilio was fast
losing his not very certain temper.
"Go and bring that other boy Halstead," ordered Alvarez. "When the two
of them see each other they'll know their game is up, and they'll come
to their senses. If not, nothing will make any difference to them after
a few minutes more."
Without a word French turned, treading down the ravine. Just a little
later he reappeared, looking bewildered.
"Alvarez," he gasped, "come here. That other boy isn't where we left
him. Hurry!"
Uttering an exclamation of amazement, Alvarez darted after his friend.
Pedro and the little brown man, caught in the astonishment, bolted after
their leaders.
Joe could not get away from the tree to which he was bound, but he stood
there grinning with cool enjoyment. In another moment he felt a lively
sound at his back. Then Halstead whispered in his ear:
"I'm cutting you loose, old fellow! Bolt with me!"
Dawson, straining at the cords while Tom slashed at them, was quickly
free.
"Come along," begged Tom. "Never mind stopping to leave cards or writing
a note of regret. Hustle--this way!"
Halstead led in the swift flight in the direction that he judged the
roads to lie. They tried to go noiselessly, but they had not gone far
when a shout behind showed them that their flight had been detected.
"Sprint, old chum!" floated back over Halstead's shoulder.
In looking back, the young skipper stumbled. Joe had to pause long
enough to drag his comrade to his feet. That lost them a few precious
seconds, but they dashed onward once more. As they ran they heard the
feet of the pursuers behind. From greater familiarity with the ground
some of those in chase were gaining on the fugitives.
[Illustration: Tom Remembered the Toy Pistol, Just in Time.]
Joe now led in the chase, with Tom at his heels. They, came to what
appeared to be the wooded slope leading down to the road. Joe ran up
against a wall almost sooner than he had expected. He nearly fell over
it, but recovered and jumped. Halstead landed in the road beside him.
There was another flying figure in the air, and Pedro was beside them,
reaching out. Behind were French and Don Emilio.
"Yo better stop, fo' shuah!" called Pedro, parting his lips in a grin of
huge enjoyment. "Dere ain't no use in tryin' to git away from me."