“No,” replied Dan; “the bitterest old woman in Wharfdale would hardly accuse me of being an accomplice to a brutal murder. So the pardon would have to go to someone else who wanted it!”
Tom Pagdin started in turn, but checked himself. He dreaded Petit’s eyes.
But Petit, like a listening wolf who has caught the bay of pursuing hounds on his trail, thought of other things. His mind was so crowded with serious reflections that he did not notice the discrepancies between the boys’ account of the strangers and the latter’s conversation about themselves and their business.
Presently Dan and George shouldered their guns and continued their walk along the track which led directly to the convict’s camp.
Petit stirred uneasily, and sat up. His face betrayed conflicting emotions of fear, anger, and hate.
He was evidently looking for a way of speedy escape without attracting the notice of the strangers.
Suddenly he caught both boys and shook them.
“Come wis me!” he growled. “Make no noise!”
He made towards the boat in which the young men had rowed over.
He had made up his mind that there lay his best chance of getting away.