“I guess you had better not go any farther, Roger,” remarked Dave. “This certainly is dangerous work.”
“It’s a wonder Porton doesn’t fall,” was the other’s comment, as they both watched the fleeing rascal, who was leaping from girder to girder with a recklessness that was truly amazing.
“He’s scared stiff at the idea of being captured,” was Dave’s comment. “If it wasn’t for that, I don’t believe he would take any such 256 chance;” and in this surmise our hero was probably correct.
Dave hated to give up the chase, so he continued his way along the bridge, making sure, however, of every step and jump he took. Roger remained where he was, too shaken up to proceed farther when he knew that each step would prove more hazardous than the last.
At last Ward Porton gained a point where one of the foundations of the bridge rested on comparatively solid ground, with the river behind and a wide stretch of marshland ahead. Here there was a long ladder used by the workmen, and down this the rascal went as fast as his feet could carry him. By the time Dave reached the top of the ladder, Porton was well on his way over the solid ground. Soon the gathering darkness hid him from view.
Knowing that it would be next to useless to attempt to follow the rascal now that he had left the vicinity of the bridge, Dave returned to where he had left Roger. Then the pair started slowly back to the end of the bridge from which they had come.
“I can’t understand what brought Ward Porton here,” remarked Roger, when the chums had once more gained the swimming-place. “Do you suppose he knew you were in this vicinity, Dave?”
“Possibly, Roger. But at the same time, I 257 don’t think that would explain his presence here. He wouldn’t dare to impersonate me around this camp. He’d be sure to be caught at it sooner or later.”
“Well, I don’t understand it at all.”
“Neither do I. I am sorry that we didn’t catch the rascal,” returned Dave, soberly.