The boy clung to Frank.
“He did not go far!” he excitedly whispered. “He is not far away! He is liable to spring upon us any time! Bernard Belmont has sent him for me, and he will not rest till he gets me. Oh, I must get away—quick—to my sister! She is near—so near now! But my strength is gone, and—and——”
The boy began to cough, and each convulsion shook him from head to feet. There was a hollow, dreadful sound about that cough—a sound that gave Frank a chill.
“Never mind if your strength is gone,” said Merriwell, encouragingly. “You’ll get along all right, for I’ll stick by you and see that you do.”
“You are so kind!”
“What’s your name?”
“George Morris.”
“Where do you live—here in Carson?”
“Oh, no, no! I live in Ohio.”
“That is a long distance away.”