“Why not? I like all kinds.”
“That was a lead one,” went on the old man.
“You mean a bullet?” asked Bob. “Is some one firing at us?”
“I’m afraid so,” answered the hermit.
Then came a distant report, followed by the peculiar buzzing sound.
“Speed her up!” cried Bob to Jerry. “Let’s get out of this danger zone. It’s too much like being on the firing line to suit me.”
The auto, all this while was speeding along, and, soon, the shooters, whoever they were, had been left far in the rear. The sound of the bullets was no longer heard.
“The reason they are doing it,” answered Mr. Bell, “is that they want to get me alive. If I was to be killed their last chance of getting me to sign the papers would be gone.”
“But there is your son, Tommy,” said Jerry. “He told us they wanted him to sign. If you were dead, he would be your heir, and his signature would be legal when he became of age. Perhaps the men could make use of it even before then.”
“I see! I see!” exclaimed Mr. Bell. “It is important then that I live so I can beat them at their own game.”