“Me no understand why he do it,” came from Thunderbolt.
“It means that some one will have to ride after him,” remarked Bob, quietly. “Larry may miss his way.”
“And get into all sorts of trouble, besides,” said Dick.
“Fellows,” cried Tom, “I’ll chase him. There isn’t a bit of use in the whole bunch going.”
In a fever of impatience he sprang toward the door.
“Hold on, Tom,” called Sam. “Suppose Larry refuses to come back?—What then?”
Tom found a ready answer to this question. Even if the blond lad should, indeed, decline to listen to persuasion, arguments, or shafts of sarcasm, his mission would not be a failure.
“I’ll see him safely aboard a train,” he said. “Then we won’t be worrying our heads off for fear he’s either lost or starving.”
“Or done up by those gentlemen who fired off pistols, and uttered such riotous yells,” laughed Sam Randall.
Down-stairs, a brief consultation was held. The opinion that Tom should go alone was not unanimous.