CHAPTER XXVIII

BOB MEETS OLD BLAKE

As quickly as he could, Bob sprang to his feet.

“Save the money!” gasped Frank.

He had received another crack over the head and the old wound was bleeding afresh.

“Which way did that fellow go?”

“That way.”

“Who was it? Raymond?”

“No; Casco.”

“By jinks! So he had the cheek to come back. Stay here till I go after him.” With his head still stinging from the blow the scar-faced man had dealt him, the young photographer sprang over the bushes which lined the roadway and made after Casco, who was running across the open fields at top speed.

“I’ll either get Frank’s money or finish that wretch,” was the youth’s somewhat savage resolve.

When about a hundred yards away, Casco looked back to see if either of his victims had recovered from the attack.

He was astonished to see Bob in pursuit.

“Humph! The young rascal means business,” he muttered to himself. “I must reach shelter as soon as I can.”

Not very far beyond was a small lake, the edge of which was lined with willows. Toward this Casco directed his steps.

Bob saw the scar-faced man disappear behind the fringe of willow trees. He did not come to a halt, but kept on at a slower gait, fearful that Casco might be setting a trap for him.

Day was now breaking, and every moment the eastern sky grew lighter.

When Bob reached the edge of the lake, nothing was to be seen of the scar-faced man.

Bob looked up and down the shore in perplexity, and then began an examination for foot-prints.

They were plainly visible, leading to a little cove a hundred feet southward.

When Bob reached the cove, he found close at hand a stake with a bit of rope attached to it. The rope had been newly cut.

“Stole a boat, I’ll bet,” muttered the young photographer to himself. “By jinks, what a fool I am! There he is!”

Bob looked out on the water, and there, a goodly distance from the shore, was Casco in a boat, rowing away as fast as he could.

The scar-faced man was too far off to make a shot effective, and in deep chagrin Bob saw him disappear around a cluster of islands in the centre of the lake.

As fast as he could, Bob ran along the shore until he reached a spot where he could see the other side of the island.

The boat had disappeared.

At first the young photographer could scarcely believe his senses. What had become of Casco and the craft?

“Perhaps she filled with water and sunk,” thought Bob. “In that case he would have to take to the islands. I wish I could keep him there till I could get assistance.”

But Bob knew better than to leave the spot at once. Casco was a wily villain, and not one of the kind to be caught like a rat in a trap.

“As soon as I disappear, he’ll think I’ve gone to summon assistance, and then he’ll come ashore,” was the way Bob reasoned. “I think I’ll play a watching game.”

Bob sat down on a rock, out of the sight of the islands, and waited. Ten minutes passed and he saw nothing to command his attention.

“He is certainly taking his time,” thought the youth. “Hullo, what’s that?”

Bob’s attention was attracted to a small boat which had suddenly shot out from the opposite shore.

The craft contained a single occupant, an old man, who worked away at the oars in a feeble way.

“He must be going to the islands, too,” thought the young photographer. “This begins to look interesting.”

Bob watched the old man with keen interest. In less than ten minutes the islands were reached, and the second boat disappeared as the first had done.

“Who can that old chap be?” was Bob’s mental question. “Can he know Casco?”

Five minutes more passed, and then the youth heard a well-known whistle, to which he at once responded.

In a fraction of time Frank was at his side.

“I couldn’t stay any longer,” said the young man. “Where is Casco?”

“On one of those islands.”

“You don’t say! How did he get over?”

“On a boat; and just now another man went over on a second boat.”

“This is Catfish Lake, and they say the islands are haunted.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” declared Bob.

“Neither do I.”

“How is your head?”

“It feels thick, but it doesn’t ache, so I think I can stand it. What do you propose to do?”

“Get back your eighteen hundred dollars!”

“Are you going to stay here until Casco leaves the islands?”

“Either that or pay the islands a visit. I wonder if there is another boat anywhere?”

“I don’t know. There ought to be.”

“If you’ll watch the islands, I’ll take a look around.”

“I will. Sitting still just suits me.”

“Then maybe we had better watch all day.”

But to this Frank demurred. He was too anxious to get back the stolen money.

Bob at once began his search for another boat. It was by no means an easy task, as the shore was rocky and lined with a thick sedge.

Presently he came to the rear of a large farm, and here he found a boat moored to a fallen tree.

By the looks of the craft the young photographer felt sure that it had not been used for a long time. But it did not leak, so he did not care how dilapidated it was in appearance.

Untying the boat, he towed her around to where Frank sat.

“I’ve found one,” he said. “But there are no oars.”

“I suppose they haven’t used it, fearing the ghosts from the islands might catch them,” laughed the young man. “Well, I reckon you can get along without oars on a pinch.”

“How?”

“The water is so shallow a couple of poles is all we will need to push ourselves over. But, Bob, there is another thing.”

“What is that?”

“By going over to the islands you will run a big risk.”

“So will you. But if you are afraid----”

“I am not afraid for myself. But it’s asking too much of you----”

“Oh, stow that, Frank. I haven’t lost any money, but I’m just as anxious to bring Casco to justice as you are.”

“And you want to make the trial in broad daylight?”

“If you say so, yes. We are both armed, and we ought to have as good a show to come out on top as Casco.”

“That’s true.”

“If he begins to fire at us, we can come back and wait.”

A few minutes after they got aboard the boat. Bob had cut two fair-sized poles, and also several bushes, which he stood up in the bow of the craft.

“That will destroy his aim if he pulls on us,” said the youth.

It was hard work poling the boat along, as the bottom of the lake was for the most part rocky, and the poles slipped. Once Frank nearly went overboard, but Bob caught him by the arm in time to save him.

They had now come within a hundred feet of the islands, and still nobody made his appearance, nor did they see a single sign of hostilities.

“Maybe he’s skipped,” said Frank.

“I don’t see how he could. Come on, we will run in this inlet and jump ashore. Got your pistol handy?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on till I take a good look ahead.”

Bob stood up in the bow and parted the bushes. At the moment that he did so there reached them a most agonizing scream.

“Help me! Oh, save me!”

The cry came from behind a grove of willow trees, close to the shore.

“That isn’t Casco’s voice!” exclaimed Frank. “What can it mean?”

“It may be that old man I saw,” replied Bob. “Or it may be nothing but a trap.”

“That’s no trap,” said Frank, as the scream again reached them.

“Don’t sound so, surely. Come on!”

Standing on the bow of the boat, Bob made a leap and reached the rocky shore. In a minute he had dashed through the willows to the open glade beyond.

A sight met his gaze that filled him with horror. There, lying flat on his back, with his face covered with blood, was old man Blake!