“If I find I’m wholly in the wrong,” said Tom pleasantly, after they had gone at least a quarter of a mile in this fashion, “there isn’t anyone in the whole United States who’d be more glad to make a complete apology.”
“But that will not save you from trouble,” breathed the swarthy one angrily. “The laws of your country do not allow such high-handed deeds as you have been guilty of.”
“Down in Honduras the laws are a bit different, aren’t they?” asked Halstead very pleasantly.
“Down in Honduras, they——”
The swarthy one checked himself suddenly.
“That is the second time you have asked me about Honduras,” he went on presently. “Why do you say so much about Honduras?”
“I’ve trapped you into admitting that it’s your country,” laughed Halstead. “And that tells me, too, why you are so interested in having Ted Dunstan kept out of sight for the next few days.”
“What’s all this talk about Honduras?” demanded a gruff voice. The challenge made both jump. A stocky figure stepped alertly out from behind a tree. It was the solidly built, florid-faced man—the other of the pair Tom had first seen in the seat ahead.
“Oh, you, you, you!” cried the swarthy one delightedly, as he wrenched his captive wrist free from Halstead’s weakening clutch. “You have appeared in time, my friend!”
“So?” roared the florid-faced one, taking a business-like grip of Tom Halstead’s collar. “What was this young cub doing?”