An hour later Lynch was lying exhausted by the roadside in the midst of a strip of woods. All around him the young day was fresh and beautiful and joyous. In the thickets the birds were singing happily. The air was clean and sweet with the fragrance of springtime.
Mike had been there before. He remembered the very cluster of bushes beside which he now lay. At one time, with two companions, he had hidden himself there to await the appearance of Rob Claxton, against whom he entertained a feeling of hatred and whom he was determined to thrash in a fist fight. With some bitterness he recalled the fact that Claxton had whipped him in that fight which took place not far from this spot.
“And Merriwell was responsible for it!” he snarled. “For a long time he had been secretly training that haughty Virginian in order that the fellow might do me up in a scrap. No wonder I hated Merriwell! I had good reasons to hate him! I had good reasons to wish him dead! I’m a fool to be upset like this! I’m a fool to run away from investigation and questioning! Wait, after I’ve rested a while I’m going back. Never anything took hold of me the way this business has. On my word, I’m done up!”
He rolled over upon his back and lay there, with his hat covering his eyes, until a faint far-away sound led him to lift his head and listen.
“Runners!” he said. “They’re coming this way. Great Scott! are they after me?”
Jerking himself to his feet, he cautiously peered over the cluster of bushes.
Far along the road where it wound through the woods some lightly clad figures came into view. His relief was intense, for he saw at a glance that they were college lads out for an early morning run. Their white clothes, swinging bare arms, and churning legs cut moving silhouettes against the dark background of the woods.
“I mustn’t be seen,” muttered Lynch, sinking down and creeping close behind the bushes. “I’ll lie here and watch them as they pass. They won’t notice me.”
The runners were Mike’s classmates. First came Claxton, the Virginian, and Sam Kates almost shoulder to shoulder. A short distance behind them Brad Buckhart appeared.
Then came another, at sight of whom Lynch uttered a hoarse, choking cry, sought to rise and then fell back, his head swimming, his senses deserting him, completely overcome by the fearful strain and the second appearance of the “apparition.”