“He’s going to leg it!” burst out the young gymnast. “Well, three can play at that game.”
Through the barn rushed Leo and Carl. Down by the brook the bushes grew to a height of several feet. Reaching the water’s edge, nothing was to be seen of the man they were after.
“He’s hiding somewhere, that’s certain,” said Carl. “You go up and I’ll go down the bank.”
This advice was followed, and both covered a distance of fifty feet, when a faint splash was heard.
“He’s crossing over!” cried out the young magician. “This way, quick!”
Regardless of the wetting, he plunged into the brook, which luckily was hardly a foot deep, and Leo came, too. The young man they were after had gone over in full view. He was running down a country road on the opposite side at top speed.
He was a good runner, and once having gained the road, Leo and Carl felt they had a lively chase before them.
But the thought of losing their baggage nerved them to do their best, and over the ground they flew in good shape, gradually closing the gap between them and the man they were after.
Evidently Jack Darrow was getting winded, for when a quarter of a mile had been passed he slowed up and turned around.
“Keep back or I’ll fire on yer!” he howled, making a suggestive movement, toward his hip pocket.