“Are you Nate Duncan’s son?”
“I hope so—yes, I’m sure I am.”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the wrecker.
“What’s the joke?” inquired Tom Cardiff.
“This, and it’s a good one, too. You think to convict us on the testimony of Nate Duncan’s son. Why, Nate is one of us! His son’s evidence wouldn’t be any good. Besides, a son wouldn’t help to convict his father. That’s a good one. Nate Duncan is one of us!”
“That’s not so!” burst out Joe, jumping toward the big wrecker, as though to strike him. “It isn’t true. My father never was a wrecker.”
“He wasn’t; eh?” sneered Hemp. “Well, I’m not saying we are, either; but if your father isn’t a wrecker why did he run away before the officers came for him? Answer me that—if you can!”
“I—I—” began Joe, when Blake stepped to his chum’s side.
“Don’t answer him,” counseled Blake. “It will only make matters worse. It will all come out right.”
“I’m sure of it,” said Joe. “Poor Dad, I wish he were here to defend himself; but, as he isn’t, I’ll stick up for him.”