“What was that?” the youth asked himself. “It sounded like a man’s foot slipping on a wet stone.”
Bob listened intently, but the sound was not repeated, and after waiting a full minute the youth began to move forward again.
He passed to the end of the rocks, and struck out for the turnpike, which he knew was now not five minutes’ walk ahead.
Suddenly a dark object seemed to loom up directly in his path. It was the form of a man. In a moment more the boy made out the figure of John Wright.
“Do you know where the robbers went?” asked Wright.
“No.”
“I sent word over to Stampton and to Shanover, and the police are now on the villains’ tracks.”
“Hope they catch them,” muttered Bob. “They are the toughest crowd I ever heard of.”
“That’s so. But the chief of police of Stampton assured me they couldn’t escape. I suppose he knows how to run ’em down first clip.”
Bob had his doubts about the matter, but he did not express them. Yet he hoped Wright spoke the truth.