CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW PETER BRUSH CAME TO THE RESCUE.
“WE SHA’N’T miss him much, Tom,” said Brush, as Percy Burnett—as he called himself—disappeared from view.
Tom breathed a sigh of relief.
“I never want to see him again,” he said.
“Nor I, unless I see him in the prisoner’s dock. He’s a regular rascal and no mistake. It’s lucky I came up just as I did, Tom.”
“If you hadn’t I would have had to lie here all night, bound hand and foot.”
“I am not sure but we ought to have served him as he wanted to serve you,” said Mr. Brush. “It isn’t too late yet—we can overtake him.”
“Let him go, Mr. Brush. I don’t care to be revenged upon him. He tried to rob me, but he has been defeated, thanks to you. And that reminds me—how did you happen to get here just in the nick of time? We left you this morning in St. Joe.”
“Just so, my lad. It is lucky, as you say, or as you mean, anyway. Well, when I saw you last night, and found you so pleasant and social like, I took a great fancy to you. Thinks I to myself—‘That boy’s the right sort!’”