“Well, we’ll take care of you, youngster,” declared the florid-faced one at last. “You’re too big a nuisance to have at large! And as you’ve been giving your time to other folks’ business, we’ll take good care of your time after this! Come along now!”
Tom had not tried to resist and for a most excellent reason. He well knew that his present captor could fell him like a log. Here no contest of muscles was to be thought of. Craft must be substituted for strength.
In the boy’s brain revolved swiftly many plans for escape. Just as the florid-faced one started to force him over the path lately taken the right idea came to the young captive. He puckered his lips, emitting a shrill whistle.
Nor had he guessed wrongly. There _was_ an echo here. Back on the air came almost the exact duplicate of the whistle Halstead had let loose.
In a jiffy both of his captors halted. Perhaps they suspected it to be only an echo, but they wanted to make sure.
Quicker than a flash, though, before they could make any tests for themselves, Halstead shouted:
“Fine! Rush ’em quick, fellows! Jump on ’em and hold ’em down. Don’t let either rascal get away!”
His voice was so joyous, so exultant, that it completely fooled the pair for an instant. Though the florid-faced one did not release the tightness of his grip on the young skipper’s coat collar, he, like the swarthy one, used his eyes to look about in all directions.
That moment was enough for Tom Halstead, doubly quick-witted in his peril. His hands flew up the front of his uniform coat, ripping buttons out of button holes at one swift move. Wrench! Tom slipped out of his coat, springing ahead under the trees.
“Here, you! Come back here!” roared the florid-faced one absurdly, as he plunged after the young fugitive. The swarthy one, too, joined in the chase, freeing himself of a torrent of Spanish words.
Tom Halstead had just a few seconds’ start, aided by the darkness that enveloped them all. A hundred yards or so Tom dashed, rather noisily. Then, off at right angles to his former course he sped on tip-toe, nor did he go much more than fifty yards ere he landed up against a straight tree whose low-hanging limbs bore an abundant foliage.
Up this tree-trunk, without hesitation, shinned the young skipper, drawing himself well up among the leaves in what he felt must be record time for such a feat.