"You have made a mistake," said Frank, in a reassuring tone. "We are not your enemies at all."
"What's that?"
"We are not your enemies; you are not trapped."
The man seemed unable to believe what he heard.
"Why, who be you-uns?" he asked, in a bewildered way.
"Fugitives, like yourself," assured Frank, with a smile.
He looked them over, and shook his head.
"Not like me," he said. "Look at me! I'm wore ter ther bone—I'm a wreck! Oh, it's a cursed life I've led sence they dragged me away from har! Night an' day hev I watched for a chance ter break away, and' I war quick ter grasp it when it came. They shot at me, an' one o' their bullets cut my shoulder har. It war a close call, but I got away. Then they follered, an' they put houn's arter me. Twenty times hev they been right on me, an' twenty times hev I got erway. But it kep' wearin' me weaker an' thinner. My last hope war ter find friends ter hide me an' fight fer me, an' I came har—back home! I tried ter git inter 'Bije Wileys' this mornin', but his dorg didn't know me, I war so changed, an' ther hunters war close arter me, so I hed ter run fer it."
"Begorra!" exclaimed Barney; "we hearrud th' dog barruckin'."
"So we did," agreed Frank, remembering how the creature had been clamoring on the mountainside at daybreak.