“What the dickens?...” breathed Poppy, clutching my hand. “The kid’s alone!”
In letting the prisoner escape, as a part of our scheme, we hadn’t dreamed for an instant but what he and his rascally uncle would get together at the creek and quickly light out for home in their boat. We wondered now why the man had stayed behind. And we were uneasy, too, over Mrs. O’Mally. Letting the other boat pass us, we guardedly took in after it, keeping in the shadow of the towering wooded cliffs, now wrapped in a peculiar abandoned silence. The water didn’t extend into the canyon very far, and presently we saw the kid land and scoot off into the trees, quickly passing from our sight. But fortunately I knew where the principal caves were. And it was our good luck to find a light in the first one that we came to.
Getting down on our stomachs we crawled like snakes from bush to bush. But it was a lucky thing for us that we didn’t get too close to the enemy’s hiding place. For all of a sudden the kid, himself, tumbled out of the cave and threw himself face downward in the bushes.
Within the cave a talking machine had come to life. I don’t know what the tune was. I suspect, though, that it was a very old one. As a matter of fact, like Poppy, I was too amazed at the moment to pay any attention to tunes. The big thing in our minds was why the kid had turned on the talking machine in the first place, and why he was now hiding in the bushes.
We soon found out.
“Um....” came a sleepy yawn from within the cave. And at the unexpected sound Poppy caught his breath. I could imagine that he was doing some quick thinking. “Who in tunket turned that dum thing on?” a deep voice growled. “Tommy Weir! Did you do that?”
But the kid, if that was his name, didn’t answer.
“Tommy Weir!” the voice was raised.
Still no answer from the kid.
“Drat that boy! Ought to have his setter warmed up good an’ proper. TOMMY WEIR! Air you goin’ to shet that thing off? Or will I have to git up an’ take my cane to you?”