Slowly and reluctantly the burglar backed down from the fence, and with a longing look at his pistol, which he knew it would be death to pick up, he allowed himself to be taken prisoner.
“Drop your knife,” said his chief captor.
He obeyed with a malignant scowl at Tom.
“I’d like to sheathe it in that boy,” he muttered, “and I will some time.”
“Don’t let him frighten you, my lad,” said the Scotchman. “You’ve done your duty bravely.”
“He does not frighten me,” said Tom calmly.
A crowd had collected by this time, who escorted the burglar to the lock-up.
“Now,” thought Tom as he re-entered the shop, “I’ll try to get a little more sleep.”