"Why didn't you tell me before?" asked the old man, greatly troubled.
"I wish I had," said Ted. "We waited to tell you and then—then—we thought, maybe, we'd better not."
"He's lyin'," said Jackson glibly. "He was scared to tell you they'd run away from where they belonged."
Jenkins turned upon Jackson with an indignant manner, but hesitated, and seemed to decide to keep silent. Noting this with discouragement, Ted checked an angry response to the insult and turned again to the old man:
"Everything I have told you is the truth. Won't you stand by us?"
The old swamp-squatter looked sharply from man to boy and back again, his expression indicating great disturbance of mind.
"If you are a-takin' them boys without the right to do it," he said, "you may have double trouble on yer hands befo' long."
"That's my business, and you'd better 'tend to your'n—if you know what's good for you!" There was menace in Jackson's tone.
The old man surrendered the plugs of tobacco with a trembling hand, then took a step toward Ted.
"You see, the trouble is," he said, rather pitifully, "that I can't take the word of two boys agin the word of two men. If they claims you, I can't stop 'em. But I'm awful sorry because I've thought a heap o' you boys."