“I’m cutting you loose, old fellow! Bolt with me!”
Dawson, straining at the cords while Tom slashed at them, was quickly free.
“Come along,” begged Tom. “Never mind stopping to leave cards or writing a note of regret. Hustle—this way!”
Halstead led in the swift flight in the direction that he judged the roads to lie. They tried to go noiselessly, but they had not gone far when a shout behind showed them that their flight had been detected.
“Sprint, old chum!” floated back over Halstead’s shoulder.
In looking back, the young skipper stumbled. Joe had to pause long enough to drag his comrade to his feet. That lost them a few precious seconds, but they dashed onward once more. As they ran they heard the feet of the pursuers behind. From greater familiarity with the ground some of those in chase were gaining on the fugitives.
Tom Remembered the Toy Pistol, Just in Time.
Joe now led in the chase, with Tom at his heels. They, came to what appeared to be the wooded slope leading down to the road. Joe ran up against a wall almost sooner than he had expected. He nearly fell over it, but recovered and jumped. Halstead landed in the road beside him.
There was another flying figure in the air, and Pedro was beside them, reaching out. Behind were French and Don Emilio.