The rascals down below seemed debating what to do. I don't
know whether they were armed or not; but probably they
imagined that there were more than two of us. At all events,
by the time Mifflin came back with a stout birch staff they
were hustling out of the quarry on the lower side. The
Professor swore, and looked as if he would gladly give chase,
but he refrained.
"Here, you," he said in crisp tones to the tramp, "march on
ahead of us, down to the quarry."
The fat ruffian shambled awkwardly down the trail. We had to
make quite a detour to get into the quarry, and by the time we
reached there the other three tramps had got clean away. I
was not sorry, to tell the truth. I thought the Professor had
had enough scrapping for one twenty-four hours.
Peg whinneyed loudly as she saw us coming, but Bock was not in sight.
"What have you done with the dog, you swine?" said Mifflin.
"If you've hurt him I'll make you pay with your own hide."
Our prisoner was completely cowed. "No, boss, we ain't hurt
the dog," he fawned. "We tied him up so he couldn't bark,
that's all. He's in the 'bus." And sure enough, by this time
we could hear smothered yelping and whining from Parnassus.
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