"Let him up, Tony; I've got the gun, and will keep him covered!" he said.
The swamp boy obeyed. Perhaps he hardly thought it wise of Phil to act as he did, for it might be noticed that the first act of Tony was to pick up the hatchet, and keep it handy.
Larry had finally succeeded in unwinding that blanket from around his person. He was staring at them as though he could hardly believe the whole thing were not a nightmare.
"Sit up, you!" Phil repeated; and the negro obeyed.
It was plain that astonishment was beginning to share the element of fear in his face, when he saw that his captors were three half-grown boys instead of gruff men. And perhaps for the first time a glimmer of wild hope began to struggle for existence in the oppressed heart of the runaway.
"What's your name?" asked Phil, sternly.
"Pete Smith, sah," replied the other, in a quavering tone.
"You escaped from the convict camp, and it was you they were hunting with the dogs, wasn't it?" the boy went on.
"Reckons as how 'twar, sah."
"How long ago did you run away?" Phil continued, bent on finding out all the circumstances connected with the case before deciding what to do.