CHAPTER XX

BOB IN THE WOODS

The young photographer was right. There, scarcely ten yards away, were the horse and the wagon.

Hicks at once jumped down and strode over to the turn-out. Bob followed.

“Is it O. K.?” queried Bob.

“Seems to be. He drove the horse for all he knew how,” responded Hicks.

“Which way do you think he went?”

“Can’t say. It’s so infernally dark it will be impossible to follow him up.”

“Well, I’m glad you got your rig back.”

“So am I. Yes, it’s all right, too.”

“Let me have the lantern a moment.”

“What for?”

“I’ll see if he left any trace behind.”

Bob took the lantern and made a close search. But though there were foot-marks, there were too many to trace out those made by the swindler.

“What is beyond here?” asked the young photographer as he returned the lantern to the spring wagon.

“This cow-path leads to Gus Freeman’s barn-yard.”

“Is it far?”

“Quite a walk. There is a short cut over the fields.”

“Then supposing we take a walk up that way? We may head the fellow off.”

“That’s so. Wait till I tie both horses and we’ll go.”

To a person not accustomed to outdoor life, walking over the rough fields would have been no easy task, but Bob was used to it, and he easily kept up with Hicks’s long strides.

When they reached the barn-yard of which Hicks had spoken, they found it dark and silent. The house stood some distance away, but there, also, was no sign of life.

“He must have branched off,” said Hicks, as they came to a halt near the stile.

“Perhaps, but--hist! what was that?”

Bob pointed to the rear of the cow-shed as he spoke. A movement of some kind had attracted his attention.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“It looked to me like a man moving about.”

“Perhaps it was Freeman’s colt. He leaves him out here over night.”

But Bob shook his head. He was certain that what he had seen was not a horse.

“I’m going up and find out,” he said. “You stay here and watch for a move from below.”

“All right. If you see him, whistle.”

Bob moved away through the semi-darkness. Passing along the rail fence to the end of the barn he hopped over, and, without making a sound, crossed to the cow-shed.

As he did so, a form sprang away from the shed and darted around the corner of the barn. Bob was sure it was the form of Joe Horning.

He gave a whistle to notify Hicks, and then ran after the man, who by this time had passed the barn and was making for a corn-field situated some distance to the right.

As we know, Bob was a good runner, and now he put forth his best effort, hoping to catch Horning before he entered the field.

But in this he was unsuccessful. The swindler gained the field, and in a moment vanished among the tall rows of corn.

Now, any one who has been in a field of tall corn knows full well how difficult it is to see in any direction over a distance of ten feet.

Bob ran after Horning, but once in the field he depended altogether on his ears to guide him toward the fellow.

He heard Horning making his way down the slope toward the creek, and he concluded that the swindler knew nothing of the “lay of the land.”

Presently Bob heard a splash, and he knew the man had reached the creek. He rushed straight ahead, and was just in time to see Horning wading knee-deep across to the stony field beyond.

“He means to escape, if the thing can be done,” thought Bob. “I wonder if I can’t jump over and thus save myself a wetting?”

He gave a loud whistle for Hicks’s benefit, and then, drawing back several paces, took the leap.

Bob was a good jumper, and he cleared the creek with nearly a foot to spare.

Horning by this time was making up the rocky slope which led to a patch of timber land, rather sparingly overgrown. He looked behind, and, seeing that Bob was still following, redoubled his speed.

But Bob was more used to such travelling than the swindler from the city, and he kept gaining on Horning, until, when the other side of the timber was reached, he was not more than a hundred feet behind.

Again he whistled to Hicks, but whether he was answered or not he was unable to tell.

“I’ll have to fight it out alone,” thought Bob, grimly. “Well, I won’t give him the ghost of a chance this trip. He’ll find he can’t nip my finger for nothing.”

“You might as well stop, Horning!” he called out.

“I believe I will,” returned the man, and he turned about and waited for Bob to come up.

“Do you give in?”

“Certainly not. I am no fool.”

“We are two to one.”

Horning started. He had supposed Bob alone.

“Who is with you?”

“Never mind, you’ll soon see.”

Bob gave another whistle, but to his dismay he received no answer.

He did not know that Hicks was slightly hard of hearing, and had only heard the signal when Bob was comparatively close by.

In perplexity over the non-appearance of Hicks, Bob looked around for a stick. He soon found one, and, picking it up, he brandished it in the air.

“Now, we’ll see who is the best man. Do you see that light over in the cottage yonder?”

“Not being blind, I do,” returned Horning, sarcastically.

“Well, you’ll walk straight for it.”

“I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

As Horning spoke, he sprang at Bob. The young photographer took a step back, and then brought down the stick with all force.

The blow caught Horning in the arm, and he uttered a shrill cry of pain.

“You have broken my arm!”

“Not quite as bad as that I hope,” said Bob. “Do you intend to mind now?”

“No.”

Again the swindler made a dash for Bob.

Once more the stick descended, but this time Horning dodged, and, putting out his foot, he tripped Bob up.

When the young photographer arose, Horning was again running as fast as his long legs would permit. But Bob was equal to the emergency. He picked up a stone, and, with unerring aim, flung it at the retreating form.

The missile caught Horning in the back of the head. He staggered, tried to recover, and then fell forward.

He was partly stunned, and before he recovered Bob was on top of him. In his pocket the young photographer had a strong cord, and with this he bound Horning’s hands behind him.

“You have broken my skull!” moaned Horning, completely subdued when he saw how helpless he now was.

“No more broken than is your arm,” returned Bob. “Will you go along now?”

“No.”

“Want another dose of that stick, eh?”

“Hold up! I’ll go. Oh, my head!”

“We’ll have your head attended to as soon as I have you in a safe place. Come on!”

Bob caught Horning by the arm, and both walked toward the cottage, from the window of which a light was streaming.

Bob had no idea who occupied the place, but he thought it would be likely he would find somebody to give him assistance.

Arriving at the cottage, he knocked on the door. There was at once a commotion inside, and Bob fancied that the light was lowered.

“Who’s there?” came in rather a rough voice.

“I want help,” said Bob.

The door was opened cautiously, and the next moment Bob was nearly dumfounded to find himself confronted by Mike Grogan.