"But," said Bandy-legs, "there ain't no need of that. I'm bent on seeing
Tom Jones get that vacancy on the local paper."

"Is Tom Jones your father's real name?" asked Max. "You needn't be afraid
to say, Jim, because nobody is going to harm him now."

"It's Thomas Archer. He kin talk jest as good as you kin, wen he wants tuh
to do it. But the fellers we tramps with done lawf at him, so he larns tuh
talk like they does. But yuh done makes me happy, tell yuh, mistah. Glad
now I waited on the trail foh yuh."

"You belong down South, don't you, Jim?" asked Max.

"Reckon Nawth Car'liny was the place I was borned into this world, suh, but
I don't jest see how yuh guessed that," the boy answered.

"Never mind. Suppose you trot along with us to our camp now. I'd like to
send back a few things, like coffee and bacon, for your dad and you."

Jim could only clutch the hand of Max when he said this and squeeze it. But
the other felt something moist drop on the back of his hand, and was sure
it must be a tear.

The boys were once more taken in charge, and their interrupted march along
the trail resumed.

When they entered the camp various were the exclamations of surprise from
the three who had been left in charge.

Of course a perfect rain of questions followed, and for some time both Max