“See here, you say you’re grateful; will you prove it?” he asked.
Tom Somers thrust out his chest as he immediately replied:
“I’m a maverick if I don’t; try me!”
“Then listen. You heard me say that our chum Jerry had strangely vanished yesterday while we were in the woods. I have good reason to believe those two hoboes laid hold of him, for some reason or other,” Frank started.
“Ransom—the old, old game, perhaps?” suggested the other, quickly.
“Well, I hardly think it is quite so bad as that; but they wanted to hold him as a sort of hostage, perhaps, threatening us if we didn’t get off this island. No matter what their reason, they’ve got our chum, and now we mean to try and release him. That’s why we’re here.”
“And you want me to help? ’Course I will, and only too glad to have the chance. If it’s a trail to foller, why I picked up lots of points out there on the Texas plains, and just you set me on the track,” said Tom, pulling on a tattered coat that had been taken from him ere he was fastened to the tree.
“Then let’s begin right here and see if there is any trail where your grub basket went off last night!” remarked Frank.
At that Tom started and turned a little pale.
“You said the hoboes, pard, and not that man-monkey,” he stammered.