“Amos,” he finally said, in the other’s ear, “I reckon we’re as one about that. We can’t stand by and see the cause of the Allies suffer through the work of any renegade Belgian, no matter if he is an old man.”
“Good for you, Jack! I like to hear you say that. Now tell me the next step we must take, for talking without deeds isn’t worth a snap.”
“We must go down there, Amos!”
“Yes, and face the old folks, you mean, of course?” ventured the other lad, fervently.
“We’ll tell them what we chanced to see, and then force them to explain this mystery,” Jack continued. “Perhaps they can do it; perhaps there is something about this queer happening we don’t understand. They’ve got to tell us!”
“Yes, that’s so, Jack, we’ll put the law straight down to them; but say, what if they choose to defy us? Suppose they say it’s none of our business if we’re what we claim to be,—from across the sea,—because America isn’t in this scrap. What then, Jack, old fellow?”
There was no longer any hesitation on the part of the ranch boy. Once he had made up his mind to do a thing, he could see his whole course clear before him.
“Leave that to me, Amos,” he said, firmly. “I’ll find a way to keep the spy fast down in that cellar until we can summon help. He must not be allowed to escape unless his claws are first of all well trimmed.”
“Now by that I guess you mean we’ll see that he isn’t carrying any information in the shape of a map or news about the Allies’ reserves?” Amos ventured to say.
“Just about that,” added Jack. “Come, let’s get our shoes on, and then open the trap to go down.”