“That’s what he did. Smart boy! The rest of ’em was up a stump when they didn’t find the chest knocked to pieces. The hold-up gent didn’t even stop to open it.”
“He expected we’d set somebody on his trail,” Frances said, reflectively.
“In course. Two parties. One went up stream and t’other down.”
“So Mrs. Peckham just told me.”
“Wal!” said Mack. “Mebbe one of ’em will ketch the varmint!”
But Frances made no further comment. She rode on in silence, her mind vastly troubled. And mostly her thought connected Pratt Sanderson with the disappearance of the chest.
Why had the young fellow been so sure that the robber had gone up stream instead of down? It did not seem reasonable that the man would have tried to stem the current in the heavy punt–nor was the chest a light weight.
It puzzled Frances–indeed, it made her suspicious. She was anxious to learn whether the man who had stolen the chest had gone up, or down, the river.