Sandy lumbered off down stairs, and Mark and I pulled on our boots and hurried after him. We stopped in the sitting-room for a few minutes to hear what Mr. Todd had to say about it, and when we saw father preparing to accompany him to town, we ran out to the barn to saddle our horses.
In about a quarter of an hour Sandy came back with Duke and Herbert, and we all set out for Burton (that was the name of the village in which the jail was situated), galloping along the road at break-neck speed, and spattering the mud in every direction.
When he had gone about a mile and a half, we suddenly discovered a horseman in the road in advance of us, whose actions we thought indicated a desire to avoid us, for he turned off the road into the bushes.
“That fellow, whoever he is, has been doing something mean,” said Duke, jumping his horse across the ditch beside the road and riding toward the place where the stranger was concealed. “An honest man wouldn’t sneak off into the woods and hide that way. Hallo, there! Come out and show yourself!”
“Is that you, boys?” asked a trembling voice in the bushes.
“Oh, it’s that Tom Mason!” said Mark, contemptuously. “What trick are you up to now? You have been about some under-handed business, or you wouldn’t be afraid of us.”
“I haven’t been up to any trick; I haven’t, honor bright,” declared Tom, with more earnestness than we thought the occasion demanded. “I didn’t know who it was coming down the road at that reckless pace. Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“To town, to see Jerry,” replied Duke.
“You are! I wouldn’t go near him if I were you. He’s a thief!”
As Tom said this he came out into the road, and we saw that his face was deathly pale, and that he was trembling all over, as if he had been seized with an attack of the ague.