"It's all right. In course it's all right. Barzilla here has been tellin' me about your troubles. It's hard, Peter, but then ye know that lots of people have been served the same way. 'Misery loves company,' ye know."
As Peter made no reply, Benzeor quickly began to talk again, too quickly the lad might have perceived, if he had not been so filled with his own thoughts that all else seemed to escape his observation. "Barzilla tells me as how ye're goin' down to Refugee Town to look up yer pop. Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm tellin' ye it won't do any good. He isn't there—leastwise, that is, I don't believe he's there. In course I don't know anything about it, but it stands to reason he isn't. Ye'd better let me take yer skiff in tow, as I've done with Barzilla's, and come along back with us."
"I think I'll go on. If I don't find him there I can report to Captain Dennis. Perhaps he'll be able to help me a bit, if it's not too late."
Captain Dennis was in command of the local militia, and he and his men already had had several skirmishes with the pine robbers. Indeed, the militia had been enrolled with the very purpose of protecting the scattered homes from the inroads of the outlaws and refugees. Thus far, however, their efforts had not met with a very marked success.
Peter did not observe the scowl which crept over Benzeor's face at the mention of the name of Captain Dennis. "Have it your own way then," said the man gruffly. "They say there's no fool like an old fool, but for downright foolishness give me the young fool every time. I'm tellin' ye that ye won't find yer pop down at Refugee Town, but ye'll have to find it out for yerself, I suppose."
Surprised as Peter was at the abrupt change in Benzeor's manner, his own purpose was not changed, and without replying he picked up his oars and began to row again. He could see the men in earnest conversation as he drew away from them, but it had not yet entered his thoughts that anything could be wrong with them. He was puzzled to account for Barzilla's unexpected presence, but his offer to look after his home in his absence was still fresh in his mind, and left no room for suspicion.
As for Benzeor, Little Peter knew that he was considered as a strange man,—"odd," the country people termed it,—and he gave little heed to him or his words. His one purpose now was to go to Refugee Town. He had but little fear of meeting the men who had assembled there, although he knew they were all desperate and reckless. They would not harm him, he thought, and it was possible that he might find his father there, or learn of his whereabouts. Just what he would do if he should find him, he did not know. In any event, he would be with him again, and if he was to be sent as a prisoner to the sugar-house in New York, or to the Whitby or the Jersey, at least his captivity might be shared.
Accordingly, Little Peter rowed steadily forward and in the course of an hour arrived at the mouth of the Navesink. Then he landed and hauled his skiff up on the shore, striving to conceal it among the bushes which grew there. It was only a mile now across the sandy strip to the shore of the ocean, and the lad began to walk rapidly. Refugee Town was not far away, and the end of his journey would soon be gained.