The captive’s face lost its impassivity for a moment. So completely had Ben’s determined manner cowed the more ruffianly moonshiners that even they did not demur.
“But there’s a string hitched to the offer,” went on Ben, “if we do let yer go you’ve got to make tracks in that thar motor-boat of yours for the north and swear to follow us no further. And tell us what you’ve done with that thar poor coon.”
“Yes, that is our proposal,” said Frank, “if we get you out of the hands of these people you will have to pledge us your word to trail us no further and to leave this part of the country at once—will you do that?”
“If we were only north we’d have you in jail by this time,” put in Billy angrily.
The man was silent for a moment with his eyes downcast, then he looked up but with some of the expression of sullen cunning obliterated from his dark face at least temporarily. It was plain the Americans’ generosity had affected him.
“I do promise—yes,” he said quietly. “My companion was to wait for me in the motor-boat till I signaled to him that I was going to put off again. If you will let me go I promise to go straight on board and never trouble you again.”
“But they said your companion put about and drove the boat round the point when he saw your capture,” objected Harry.
The other smiled.
“Simply a measure of prudence,” he said. “I can easily signal him with this,” he drew from his pocket a small whistle, of the shrill kind known to seafaring men as the “bos’n’s pipe.”
“But,” he went on in a grave tone, “I want to do something to repay you for your kindness which I confess I do not understand—you Americans are a queer people.”