“They got wind of his being up this way. Somebody saw him, or thought he did. Crackey! Do you suppose he was the fellow who took the food from your tent, Laura?”
“Yes, I do,” admitted his sister.
“Then he’s far enough away from the lake 164 now,” said Chet, nodding. “That amount would have lasted him till he got over the Canadian border.”
“Perhaps,” said Laura. “At any rate, those dogs won’t be able to follow his trail much after the hard rain of last night.”
“Sure not,” Chet rejoined. “That’s what the sheriff said. He got us to promise to let him know at Creeper Station if we saw anybody who looked like Norman Halliday––”
“That’s it!” gasped Laura, clapping her hands together.
“What’s ‘it?’” demanded her brother, wonderingly.
“His name.”
“Of course it is. The fellow who stole the securities from the bank. They will get him of course.”
“With bloodhounds? How terrible!”