This appeared to strike his companions with dismay. They seemed panic-stricken, as well they might be, for the bows and arrows with which they were armed were no match for the rifles of the little party opposed to them. One of them raised his arm and uttered a few words; these were of course unintelligible to Grant and his companions, but their sense became apparent when he pointed to the dead Indian, and, with one of his companions, lifted him from the ground and began to beat a retreat.
“They won’t trouble us any more, Grant,” said Tom. “They are going away. But we had better keep on the watch, for they are a crafty race, and may meditate some treachery.”
When they were beyond bowshot, Tom led the way to the spot where Mr. Silverthorn was eagerly awaiting deliverance from his uncomfortable position.
“Well,” said Tom, taking a position where he had a good view of the captive, “what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Oh, please release me, Mr. Tom!” said Dionysius, in a pleading tone.
“Why should I? What claim have you on me?”
“The claim of humanity. You’ve no idea what I have suffered in the last hour.”
“First, I want you to explain why you stole my horse.”
“You’ve got him back,” said Silverthorn, who could see old Dobbin browsing beside the wagon.
“Indeed, I only meant to borrow him for a while.”
“And you borrowed Grant’s money in the same way, I suppose.”
“Put yourself in my place, Mr. Tom. I was penniless and destitute. How could I make my way alone through this wilderness?”
“So you robbed your benefactors! I take no stock in your story that you only meant to borrow the horse. Now own up, make a clean breast of it, and it will be the better for you.”
“I meant some time to pay you for him; indeed I did. I knew that if I got to the mines I would soon be in a position to pay all my debts, and I should have regarded that as a debt of honor.”
“The less you say about honor the better, it strikes me, Mr. Silverthorn.”
“Please release me! I have been in this unhappy confinement for more than an hour.”
Tom approached the tree and, drawing out a formidable looking jack-knife, sundered the cords that bound the captive, and he stepped forth, stretching himself with a sigh of relief.
“Permit me to express my thanks, my friend and benefactor!” he cried, sinking on his knees and grasping Tom’s hand, which he pressed to his lips.