“Doing?” cried the swarthy one, dancing in his wrath, his eyes gleaming like coals. “He had the impudence, this boy, to say he would take me to a constable. He insists that I know all about one Ted Dunstan.”
“Does, eh?” growled the powerful, florid-faced one, giving Tom a mighty shake. “Then we’ll take care of this young man! Oh, we’ll give him a pleasant time!”
“Yes, yes! Just as we would in Honduras!” laughed the swarthy one gleefully. “He has been asking much, just now, about the way they do things in Honduras.”
“Then he’ll be sure to be just the lad who’ll appreciate a little information at first hand!” jeered Tom’s captor.
CHAPTER VI—TOM HAS A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR
“So the youngster was going to be high-handed with ye, was he?” demanded the florid-faced one, and despite the intense darkness there in the woods, Tom Halstead could see the ugly gleam in his strong-handed captor’s eyes.
The swarthy one stepped to the other side of his friend and whispered something in that worthy’s ear. It was a rather long communication. Though he tried with all his might to overhear some of it, Halstead could not distinguish a single word. Yet, as the narration proceeded, Tom felt that powerful grip on his coat collar increase in intensity.
“Well, we’ll take care of you, youngster,” declared the florid-faced one at last. “You’re too big a nuisance to have at large! And as you’ve been giving your time to other folks’ business, we’ll take good care of your time after this! Come along now!”
Tom had not tried to resist and for a most excellent reason. He well knew that his present captor could fell him like a log. Here no contest of muscles was to be thought of. Craft must be substituted for strength.
In the boy’s brain revolved swiftly many plans for escape. Just as the florid-faced one started to force him over the path lately taken the right idea came to the young captive. He puckered his lips, emitting a shrill whistle.