"He told us so himself, just now—a little while ago, that is," said the boys.
"Why, he's fooled you to death. That's Tim himself, that's been doing all the devilment about here. He is the worst deserter in the whole gang."
"We saw the wound on his shoulder," declared the boys, still doubting.
"I know it; he's got one there,—that's what I know him by. Which way did he go,—and how long has it been?"
"He went that way, down in the woods; and it's been some time. He's got away now."
The lads by this time were almost convinced of their mistake; but they could not prevent their sympathy from being on the side of their late agreeable companion.
"We'll catch the rascal," declared the leader, very fiercely. "Come on, men,—he can't have gone far;" and he wheeled his horse about and dashed back up the road at a great pace, followed by his men. The boys were half inclined to follow and aid in the capture; but Frank, after a moment's thought, said solemnly:
"No, Willy; an Arab never betrays a man who has eaten his salt. This man has broken bread with us; we cannot give him up. I don't think we ought to have told about him as much as we did."
This was an argument not to be despised.