“How under the sun did he escape?” shouted Freeman Hunt, taking up the chorus of cries and exclamations.
But before Dale, agile as he was, could reach him, Tubby had darted nimbly off. He was heading for the bushes. In another instant he would have reached them but a second figure suddenly dodged into the moonlight and blocked his way. It was Black Bart. He outspread his long arms to catch the hunted youth.
The next instant he had shared Hunt’s fate. Tubby, for the second time that night, executed his skillful tackle. Black Bart, with a string of bad words accompanying his fall, was upset without ceremony. But Dale was close on Tubby’s nimble heels. As the lad dodged from his fallen foe Dale reached out, and his big hand grabbed the fleeing lad’s collar. Tubby gave a dive and a twist but he could not get away.
“Good boy, Dale. Hold him!” came Freeman Hunt’s voice.
Suddenly another figure appeared. The newcomer sprang out of the shadows behind them. With one blow this personage knocked Dale sprawling beside Black Bart, and the next instant, as Pete Bumpus essayed to take part in the fray, he was sent to join the other two.
Tubby felt himself snatched up and carried swiftly off into the darkness of the friendly brush.
“Gollygumptions!” chuckled Jumbo, for it was he, as he ran, “but it shuah did feel good to swat dem no-good trash.”
“Hullo, Jumbo, is that you?” asked Tubby as he heard; “I’ll forgive you for almost getting us captured.”
“Tank you, Marse Hopkins,” rejoined Jumbo gravely; “but we bes’ keep our words till we get furder away. Hark!”
Behind them they could hear angry voices, and shouts and trampling in the brush.