So, making a turn, he walked through the woods. The smell of the cool, shady spots under the trees seemed to soothe his nerves, and he was rapidly getting the firm grip on himself that he wanted, and which would be so essential to the success of his contemplated work.
He had no thought of anything happening to detain him on the way. Frank might have enemies bitter enough to attempt such mean tactics, but thus far Ralph did not know of any person who would have an object in keeping him out of the game, unless it might be that undesirable character, Watkins Gould, who staked his money on Bellport that other day, and lost.
So Ralph had covered about half of the distance, and was aiming for a spot where, emerging from the thick woods, he knew he could strike a road leading directly to the athletic field.
“What was that?” he asked himself, suddenly stopping in his quick walk, for he thought he had caught a sound not unlike the sobbing of a child.
It seemed to well up from the thicket on his right. Perhaps Ralph may have had one fleeting suspicion that there could be a trick connected with the matter; but when he heard the piteous cry a second time he plunged straight toward the spot.
CHAPTER XIII
LED BY A KINDLY FATE
“Well, I declare!”
Ralph West stood rooted to the spot for a couple of seconds, as he allowed this exclamation to escape from his lips.
Perhaps he had half expected to have a couple of fellows pounce upon him as he pushed the branches aside; which would account for the manner in which his fists were clenched, and his teeth set.
What he saw was an entirely different spectacle. A little girl was seated on a hummock, rocking to and fro, with her childish face tear-stained, and full of bodily anguish.