“Fellow prisoners,” cried Dick, “let us invite our captors to breakfast.”
“I am sorry we should have been the means of putting you to so much trouble,” said Dave Brandon. “I hope next time things will turn out better.”
“They never will,” growled Ashe. “Every time I expect to make an important capture I’ll find one of you chaps bobbing up to say: ‘Why, hello, here’s Billy Ashe again!’”
The policemen picketed their horses, then followed the crowd inside.
It didn’t look very much like captors and captured. A big breakfast was cooked; and gradually the awful frown which rested on Trooper Ashe’s face departed. He listened to all they had to say, and actually smiled when he learned the trick Hank Styles had played upon them.
“And you haven’t seen your friend since?” he asked.
“No,” responded Tom. “And we’re a bit worried about him, too.”
“Don’t let that bother you in the least,” said Ashe. “He’s probably arranging things so that whatever little chance we might have had to nab ’em is gone.”
The roars of laughter which followed this remark were hearty and spontaneous.
“Now, fellows,” went on Ashe, turning to the other policemen, “you’d better scour the country.” Then he added, addressing Tom: “No, I’m not going to tell you how Hank Styles and his men came to be suspected—or when. If Sergeant Erskine chooses to do so, all right.”