Frank did not hesitate a minute. He believed that it was his duty, if possible, to overtake the spy, and not only learn his identity, but in some fashion make him promise not to reveal what he had seen and heard.
He started as fast as he could, making allowances for the fact that he did not wish to alarm the fellow too soon. The shades of evening were not far away, since night comes early in mid-November, and try as he would, he found it impossible to decide as to whether the other was someone he knew or a stranger.
As he ran quickly over in his mind the list of those who would come under the head of suspicion, he put them aside, one after another. It was certainly not Lef Seller or Bill Klemm; another look, and he was just as positive that it could not be either Asa Barnes or Tony Gilpin.
Perhaps, after all, this cunning spy might be some enthusiast from Clifford, who, believing that his team had suffered through treachery on the preceding Saturday, when Bellport overwhelmed them, wished to even matters by picking up Columbia's signals.
"As if two wrongs ever yet made a right," said Frank bitterly, as he continued to chase after the unknown.
He was gaining rapidly. Still, in order to do so, he had to keep his eyes fixed for the most part on the moving figure ahead, and in this way was unable to properly watch his footsteps.
Consequently, it was not at all surprising when he suddenly stepped on a stick that broke with a sharp twang. And, before he could dodge behind a tree, the fellow beyond had turned his head.
Frank knew instantly that he was discovered. He had stood perfectly still, in the hope that he might escape observation; but when he saw the other take to his heels, he realized that it was now destined to be a stern chase. So he, too, started to run at top speed, which meant a hot pace, since Frank was something of a sprinter on the cinder path.
At least, that turn on the part of the other had told him one thing—it was no Columbia fellow who had played this miserable trick upon the football squad; so undoubtedly he must belong in Clifford.
Despite the efforts of the school authorities, there was always more or less laying of wagers on these games. Driven away from the racetracks by recent strict State legislation, it seemed that those who made books were seeking all manner of sports, in order to carry on their games of chance.