"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."
