He turned his horses directly around and drove to the village. When he returned, he told Tom he had got a local constable to start at once and try to get some trace of the missing boy.
With that move all were forced to be content. Ben stayed at Tom’s house all night, and the boys remained up late, hoping some word might come. The captors of Harry, however, seemed to have well planned their flight, for at the crossroads all trace of them had disappeared.
The next day went by with no report as to the fate of Harry. Tom and Ben took turns till late in the afternoon spelling one another in visits to the house, anxious and eager to hear some word about their missing comrade.
“We’ll just have to wait,” concluded Ben, as they locked up the tower that evening. “You see——”
There Ben suddenly interrupted himself. He halted, drawing Tom also to a dead stop.
“What’s the matter, Ben?” inquired Tom in some surprise.
“S—sh! Ambush.”
“Don’t be mysterious, Ben,” began Tom.
Then, following the indication of the pointed finger of his companion, Tom became as much startled and interested as his chum.
There was a dense stretch of wild rose bushes on a sandy hill about fifty yards distant from the tower. Protruding from these, plainly visible, was a pair of human feet.