“Oh, I’d like to see his face!” he chuckled. “It would be such fun! It would be more fun than it was to see Billy roll his eyes round at the old pail.”
When he came to the edge of the woods he did not hesitate to step out into the moonlight, for now there was no fear in his heart that any one save Old Joe would see him.
Straight toward Black Rock, at a little distance from the shore of the lake, he hastened. There were some trees near the rock, and Dick fancied the old Indian was waiting in their shadows.
At some distance from the rock Dick paused and gave the hoot of the horned owl. Immediately, from a point near the rock, the howl of a coyote rose and quavered on the still night air.
“Joe is there!” laughed the boy. “He is waiting, and all is well.”
Then he ran forward. Near the rock a figure rose to meet him. It was Crowfoot.
“Ugh!” grunted the Indian. “You come. Old Joe think it time.”
“I waited till I was sure everybody was asleep,” said Dick. “Besides, I was bound to let him know he was not my master and that I had beaten him.”
“What you do?”
“I wrote on a slip of paper, ‘Good-by, Frank Merriwell; I am gone, and you’ll never catch me. I ran away because I would not let you be my boss. It won’t do you a bit of good to try to find me.’ Then I signed my name to it. And I slipped into his room and put it where he would find it first thing in the morning.”