"Tag broke out of jail last night," replied the officer.
"He's—-at large?"
"That's what he is," nodded Simmons. "Tag was looked upon as a kid, and wasn't watched as carefully as he should have been. So he got out. Not only that, but he visited the warden's office, late at night. So, when he left, he took with him a sawed-off shotgun—-one of the wickedest weapons ever invented—-and a revolver and plenty of ammunition. That's what I'm doing in the woods now. I came to see if you had seen Tag to-day, but your asking for news of him shows me that you haven't."
"Is Mr. Valden with you?" asked Dick.
"Yes; he's over at the road, in the car. He wouldn't come to camp. I guess the truth is"—-Simmons' eyes twinkled—-that Valden is ashamed to see you after the rebuke you gave him the other night, Prescott. After we got young Mosher to the jail and locked up, I gave Valden a talking-to, and told him I'd report him to the sheriff if I ever heard of his abusing a prisoner again."
"So Tag escaped, with some field artillery, and you officers are out after him?" Tom asked.
"Yes; and three other pairs of deputies are out also," nodded
Mr. Simmons.
"Did you get that car out of the creek?" asked Darry. "We never heard."
"That car was a complete wreck," replied the officer. "We got it out of the creek, but left it in the woods nearby. The bridge has been rebuilt, and is stronger than before. How's your hip, Prescott?"
"As well as ever, thank you," replied Dick.