“You hear what he says,” said Tom, facing round on the others, “what shall we do?”
“We would be a fine lot of cowards to give this man up to them after he has saved my boy at the risk of his life,” said the professor.
“That’s what I say,” chimed in Mr. Chillingworth.
“So do I,” agreed Tom, while Hunt sank back with a breathed “God bless you!” It was the most fervent wish that had ever left those lips.
“Wall, what be you a-goin’ ter do?” came the voice. “The boys is gittin’ impatient.”
“You can’t have Hunt!” hailed back Tom in decisive tones.
“What!” roared the fellow outside, “think of what you’re a-doin’ of, youngster. It’s his life or yours—now kin we hev him?”
“Not in the longest day you ever lived!” shouted Tom, “now be off and do your worst.”
“No fear of that, younker,” the voice assured him; “look out fer squalls!”
“If only we had some weapons,” exclaimed Tom. He stepped over to Hunt, thinking that perhaps the man had a pistol on him. But Hunt, when addressed, did not answer, and Tom soon made out that he had swooned again. Striking a match Tom bent over him. The man’s shirt was blood-stained, and he had, apparently, been wounded in the shoulder.