“Sure,” says I, “but where’d he move to?”
“He’d git away from the road,” says Mark. “He wouldn’t take the road t-toward Wicksville, and he wouldn’t go the other way, and he wouldn’t cross the road and go s-south, because somebody might see him when he crossed. There hain’t but one other way for him to go, and that’s n-north toward the r-river and the woods. That’s where he went.”
“Sounds likely,” I says.
“It’s sure,” says he. “He got through the hedge and took a l-look and seen those woods right there. Then he made for ’em lickety-split.”
“When did he go?” says I. “The letter didn’t say.”
“This m-mornin’,” says Mark. “Jethro was all excited. Didn’t he act that way? Like he’d just found out Rock was gone? Sure he did. He acted like he was most r-rattled to pieces, and the first thing he did was to hitch a horse and go f-flyin’ off wild-like, just lookin’ for the sake of lookin’. Anyhow, Jethro hain’t got many brains. Yes, Binney, you can bet Jethro just f-found it out.”
“Then,” says I, “Rock hain’t been gone more ’n an hour or two.”
“That’s how I f-f-figger,” says he.
“Come on, then,” says I, “he’s got quite a start.”
We streaked it along till we got out of the field and into the woods. Maybe you think because Mark Tidd is fat that he can’t move. Well you’d get fooled there, for though there’s enough of him for two boys and their little brother rolled into one, he can get from one place to another about as fast as the next one. I’ve read those rhinoceroses and hippopotamuses in Africa are pretty whopping animals, but that when they get started they can run to beat a horse. I don’t know if it’s so, but Mark Tidd sort of leads me to believe it.