alt.

"There is the boy now--sitting on a rock, fishing," he whispered.
"Don't scare him off."

They crept into the shelter of the trees and came out again directly
behind the boy, who had just landed a good-sized fish and was baiting
up again. He was a small boy, with an old-looking face covered with
a fuzz of reddish hair. He had yellowish eyes that had a vacant stare
in them.

"Hullo!" cried Tom.

The boy jumped as if a bomb had gone off close to his ear. His fishing
pole dropped into the stream and floated off.

"Out for a day's sport?" asked Tom pleasantly.

The boy stared at him and muttered something neither Tom nor Songbird
could understand.

"What did you say?" asked the fun-loving Rover.

"Poor fishing pole!" murmured the boy. "Now Peter can't fish any more!"

"Is that your name--Peter?" asked Tom. He saw that the boy was not
just right in his mind.

"Yes."

"Peter what?"

"No, no! Peter Poll--pretty Peter Poll, who will be rich some day--if
he does not tell all he knows," said the boy, repeating the words in
parrot-like fashion.

"Do you live at Red Rock ranch?" asked Songbird.

The boy bobbed his head up and down vigorously.

"With Mr. Sack Todd?"

Again the boy nodded.

"What do you do there?"

"Wash dishes and cook. But Peter will be rich some day--if he doesn't
tell all he knows," went on the boy. Then, of a sudden, he flapped
his two arms and crowed like a rooster.

"He is a dolt!" whispered Songbird to Tom, and the latter nodded.

"The poor fishing pole--it will be drowned," went on the dolt.

"Never mind, I'll pay you for it, Peter," said Tom, and drew a silver
coin from his pocket. "So you live with Mr. Todd. How do you like it?"

"Peter must not tell all he knows."

"Does he treat you kindly?"

"Peter gets sugar sometimes--and he is to have a pipe and tobacco soon."

"Did you see anything of two strangers last night?" continued Tom in
a sterner tone. "Two boys about my own age?"

"Peter must not tell--"

"You answer me, or it will be the worse for you!" and now Tom caught
the simple-minded youth by the collar. He did not intend to harm the
lad, but he wanted to make him speak.

"Oh, oh! let me go!" screamed the dolt. "Let me go for a hundred-dollar
bill! A brand new one!"

"A what?" asked Songbird curiously.

"Peter must not tell all--"

"You answer my question," broke in Tom, facing the boy and searching
his eyes. "Did you see those two boys last night or n