"This is the girl Mr. Mason spoke to me about, isn't it?" the railroad man asked. "The conductor of the express, I mean. He said the dog would mind you."
"He seems to like me," she replied, turning to the mastiff that had stood all this time close to her.
"That is Tom Cameron's dog all right," said one of the other men. "And that lantern is off his motorcycle, I bet anything! He went through town about dark on that contraption, and I shouldn't wonder if he's got a tumble."
Ruth showed the station master, whose name was Curtis, the bit of handkerchief with the appeal for help traced upon it.
"That is blood," she said. "You see it's blood, don't you? Can't somebody take Reno and hunt for him? He must be very badly hurt."
"Mason said he expected it was nothing but some fool joke of the boys. But it doesn't look like a joke to me," Mr. Curtis said, gravely. "Come, Parloe, you know that patch of woods well enough, over beyond the swamp and Hiram Jennings' big field. Isn't there a steep and rocky road down there, that shoots off the Osago Lake pike?"
"The Wilkins Corners road—yep," said the old man, snappishly.
"Then, can't you take the dog and see if you can find young Tom?"
"Who's going to pay me for it?" snarled Jasper Parloe. "I ain't got no love for them Camerons. This here Tom is as sassy a boy as there is in this county."
"But he may be seriously hurt," said Ruth, looking angrily at Jasper Parloe.