“Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Well, I am,” said Sleuth, displaying a small revolver. “It’s too bad you have no weapon, but, nevertheless, you may be of great assistance in capturing the man. If you’ve got nerve enough to stick by me, we’ll try to run him down.”
“Hadn’t we better get others? Do you think we ought to try it alone?”
“If we call for assistance,” said Sleuth, “and the man is actually captured, we’ll have to share the reward with others. You know there’s a large reward offered for the apprehension of the man known as Gentleman Jim, and it’s not impossible that the fellow who was winged by Aaron Quinn is Gentleman Jim himself. If we take him, just you and I, we can whack up on that reward money. I’ll agree to give you a fair share, providing you stand by me through thick and thin.”
“You’ve certainly got a nerve, Piper, to think of trying such a thing. I don’t know about it, myself.”
“Oh, well, if you’re scared,” said Sleuth, with no attempt to suppress his scorn, “I’ll go it alone. I thought you had more sand, Hook.”
“Well, nobody around here has ever figured that you were running over with sand, yourself,” was the resentful retort. “I guess I’ve got as much as you have. Go ahead and see what you can do at this job of trailing.”
Forcing their way through the hedge, they reached Middle Street, where for a moment Piper hesitated, as if considering the probable course the fugitive had taken.
“About the time the man got here,” he said, “Jonas Sylvester was waking people up by his yells and shouts from the square in front of the post-office. Under such circumstances, fearing to encounter some citizen of the town who had been aroused by Sylvester, the fleeing man would avoid the streets as far as possible. I should say he kept straight across the road here and struck across lots for High Street.”