“It’s a wonder they didn’t see all this white when I was up in the tree,” he muttered, as he stole along in pursuit. “The leaves must have covered me mighty well.”
For perhaps five minutes Halstead kept steadily behind the pair, guiding himself by the distant sound of their steps, for they did not keep to any path. Then suddenly the boy halted. The noise of footsteps ahead had died out. Tom stood, silent, expectant, but no sound came to his ears in the next two or three minutes. Then a disagreeable conclusion forced itself on the young skipper’s mind.
“Gracious! They’ve slipped away from me or else they’re at the end of their tramp.”
Again Halstead stole forward on tiptoe. But, though he spent nearly the next half-hour in exploring, he found nothing to reward his search. He came at last to a road which he judged to be the same one along which he had started with the Spaniard. Taking his course from the stars, seaman fashion, Halstead kept along. Within ten minutes he was upon a road that looked like a highway.
“Say, but how good that sounds!” he thrilled, suddenly halting. He had the presence of mind next to slip behind the trunk of a big tree.
A horse was moving lazily along the road. There was the sound of wheels, too, though above all rose a cheery whistling, as though the owner of that pair of lips were the happiest mortal alive. It was a good, contented whistling. It had about it, too, the ring of honesty. The cheery sound made Tom Halstead feel faith at once in the owner of that whistle.
Then there came into sight a plain, much-worn open buggy, drawn by a sleek-looking gray horse. Seated in the vehicle was a youngster of about Tom’s own age, who looked much like a farmer’s boy. He had no coat on, his suspenders being much in evidence. On his head he wore a nondescript, broad-brimmed straw hat of the kind used by haymakers. At least it looked as though it might once have been that sort of a hat, but its shape was gone. From where Halstead stood not much of a glimpse could be had of the boy’s face.
“Good evening, friend,” Tom hailed, stepping out from behind the tree.
“Evening! Who-o-oa!” The other boy reined up, peering down through the semidarkness. “Want a lift?”
“Just what, if it happens that you’re headed toward the town of Nantucket,” Tom replied.