“No, you go on back. If you don't, they'll be suspicious. Get another man”—Hale almost laughed at the disappointment in the lad's face at his first words, and the joy that came after it—“and climb high above the shanty and come back here to me. Then after dark we'll dash in and cinch Caliban and his customers.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad. “Shall I whistle going back?” Hale nodded approval.
“Just the same.” And off Bob went, whistling like a calliope and not even turning his head to look at the cabin. In half an hour Hale thought he heard something crashing through the bushes high on the mountain side, and, a little while afterward, the boy crawled through the bushes to him alone. His cap was gone, there was a bloody scratch across his face and he was streaming with perspiration.
“You'll have to excuse me, sir,” he panted, “I didn't see anybody but one of my brothers, and if I had told him, he wouldn't have let ME come. And I hurried back for fear—for fear something would happen.”
“Well, suppose I don't let you go.”
“Excuse me, sir, but I don't see how you can very well help. You aren't my brother and you can't go alone.”
“I was,” said Hale.
“Yes, sir, but not now.”
Hale was worried, but there was nothing else to be done.
“All right. I'll let you go if you stop saying 'sir' to me. It makes me feel so old.”