Such was Frank’s salutation, and Bob saw at a glance that the young man was much better.
“I wish I had been able to follow them,” returned the youth, and, sitting down, he related the particulars of the useless search.
Frank shook his head slowly.
“That’s the end of them, mark my word.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” returned Bob. “They are sly as well as bad. How do you feel?”
“Much better. I think I can start out again by to-morrow morning. How is your wrist and back?”
“Mighty sore, but I reckon I’ll pull through,” and Bob grinned. “I’m tough, you know.”
Bob remained with Frank for an hour. During this time he saw Joel Carrow tramp past, pitchfork in hand, and looking the picture of sourness. He laughed, and told his companion of the incident on the road.
“He ought to be dressed down,” said Frank. “But, Bob.”
“Well?”