“Which way did that fellow go?”
“That way.”
“Who was it? Raymond?”
“No; Casco.”
“By jinks! So he had the cheek to come back. Stay here till I go after him.” With his head still stinging from the blow the scar-faced man had dealt him, the young photographer sprang over the bushes which lined the roadway and made after Casco, who was running across the open fields at top speed.
“I’ll either get Frank’s money or finish that wretch,” was the youth’s somewhat savage resolve.
When about a hundred yards away, Casco looked back to see if either of his victims had recovered from the attack.
He was astonished to see Bob in pursuit.
“Humph! The young rascal means business,” he muttered to himself. “I must reach shelter as soon as I can.”
Not very far beyond was a small lake, the edge of which was lined with willows. Toward this Casco directed his steps.