“Then why did you tell Smirker so?”
“To help you out of a scrape,” replied Fred, picking up the bundle he had made and throwing it over his shoulder. “But I say, Julian,” he added, a shade of anxiety overspreading his merry countenance, “of course you are not aware of the fact, but you have jeopardized the life of one who is very dear to both of us by getting into this fuss with Uncle Reginald.”
“How?” asked Julian.
“Why, our father has been a prisoner in the hands of the band of which I am a member for eight years, and if anything happens to the captain—Uncle Reginald—his jailors have orders to shoot him as soon as word comes to their ears.”
“The news is on the way to them now,” said the robber chief, with savage emphasis, “and he will be shot before daylight. Pedro is already on his road to the mountains.”
“Who sent him?” demanded White-horse Fred.
“I expect he sent himself,” cried Julian, starting from his chair in great excitement. “I saw him put his head in at the door just as you came in. We must be off at once.”
“But where will we go, and what shall we do?” asked Fred. “We don’t know where father is; if we did, we should have released him before this time.”
“Well, I know where he is, and I have seen him. More than that, I’ve got a letter from him.”