At that moment, happening to glance up, he saw a pale, horrible face peering out from a mass of shrubbery.
It was the face of Apollo, the dwarf.
“That creature still here!” grated Merriwell, as he sprang up. “If he isn’t driven away, he may find a way to injure us further.”
Then he ran after Apollo, who quickly disappeared.
Frank pursued the dwarf hotly, hearing the little wretch crashing along for some distance, but Apollo succeeded in keeping out of sight, and, at last, he could be heard no more.
Merry was disgusted. He spent some time in searching for Apollo, and then returned to the spot where he had left Harry.
[CHAPTER XIII.—A RACE ON THE LAKE.]
To Frank’s amazement, he found Rattleton reclining in a very comfortable position, with the handkerchief bound about his head.
“Hello, old boy!” Merriwell cheerfully called. “I reckon you are all right, for you are able to do up your own wound.”
“I say, Frank,” came eagerly but weakly from Rattleton, “what has become of her?”