Tom’s first, throbbing thought was that they had tracked him here. He did not stir, but the grim lines around his mouth deepened. Let them try to get him then. They would have to climb the tree to get at him and he meant to make use of his hands and feet in defending himself.
“I can give them all they want for a while,” he told himself between his teeth. In fact, in his excitement he all but made his remark half aloud.
“Well, he’s got away from us, all right,” growled the florid-faced one in a tone of mingled disappointment and rage.
“We shall at least know him well after this,” sighed the swarthy one in a sinister tone.
“And I hope you’ll have your wish,” flared listening Tom indignantly, “though I’ll try to control the time and place of meeting.”
“I’d rather have lost a thousand dollars than that boy,” went on the larger man gruffly.
“A thousand?” sneered the other. “Diablo! I’d give five thousand to have him in our hands this moment.”
“And I believe I’d give more,” echoed Tom silently, “to keep out of your clutches—if I had the money.”
Then, drawing closely together, the pair conversed in whispers. Again Tom groaned over his hearing which, keen as it was, could get nothing connected from the low tones of the pair on the ground. Whatever they were saying, these plotters must be terribly in earnest over something. In his eagerness Tom bent too far forward. His foot slipped. Frantically he clutched at a branch overhead to save himself from plunging to the ground. Of course the move made some noise.
“Diablo! What was that? And so close, too!” demanded the smaller man.