“Stop thief!”
“Stop me!” invited Merriwell. “Try it!”
Out of the stable door dashed two mounted men, followed by a third. The hostler, believing he had let an animal to a rascal, had joined Riddle and the sheriff in the chase.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Frank. “This thing is getting mighty serious. I don’t fancy being chased about over the country and called a thief. If it wasn’t for business, I’d go back and face the thing; but that would be playing right into Riddle’s hands. No, I’ll catch that train if I can.”
Through the town he rattled. The black horse was spirited and speedy. He believed he had been given the best mount in the stable. If that was true, his pursuers would have some trouble overtaking him.
Surely he was finding excitement enough ahead of the show to satisfy the most morbid craving for something stirring.
There were several streets leading out of the town on that side, and he was forced to choose one by chance, trusting to fortune to put him onto the right one.
He was fortunate, indeed, for he chose the road to Kilmerville.
When he was clear of the town, he looked back and saw his pursuers coming. He waved his hand tauntingly at them.
“I’ll have the satisfaction of giving them a merry race, anyhow,” he thought.