“It looks like it,” thought Bob. “I wish I could get away from this chap, and find out for certain.”
He looked up at Grogan, who still stood over him, smoking a short clay pipe and glaring down at him. The Irishman seemed to read his thought.
“Yez can’t git away, and yez had better not troy,” he said, savagely.
“Go for him, Bill!” exclaimed Bob, to an imaginary person behind Grogan.
The ruse worked well. Mike Grogan turned, with a startled air, to confront the person he supposed was about to attack him. On the instant Bob jumped to his feet. His side felt fearfully sore, but to this he paid no attention.
“Shtop!” roared Grogan, as soon as he realized that he had been imposed upon.
But instead of stopping, Bob dashed for the fence which lined the lane. Grogan came after him at the top of his speed. But the boy was the better runner of the two, and he reached the fence fully twenty feet ahead of the Irishman.
Bob vaulted over with a single bound. His intention was to run up the lane and join Frank, if possible.
But as he went over the fence his hopes were crushed before his feet touched the ground on the other side. He fell plump into the hands of Casco and Barker, who were just returning from casting Landes into the ditch some distance away.
“Ha! who’s this?” cried Casco. “That boy, as I live!”