His musings led Prescott rather far afield. At last he halted, looking about him in some bewilderment.
"Humph! That's queer!" he muttered. "Now, I wonder if I can really remember what it was I came out here for?"
For a few moments the bewilderment continued.
"Oh, yes! Now, I know," he laughed. "I am after some of that savory herb for the soup."
It was necessary to retrace his steps considerably, and to go in a somewhat different direction. At last he came upon a patch of the herb.
"This stuff has been burned by the sun," he said to himself, turning away from the first specimens of the herb. "Over there in the shade it will be fresher and greener."
Dick took a few rapid steps, halting before a fringe of bushes.
Bending over, he extended a hand to pick some of the herbs.
Just then he heard a slight sound, like the catching of someone's breath. Starting, Prescott raised his head just a trifle, to find himself looking straight into the eyes of Tag Mosher, as that youth lay flat on the ground. Two muzzles of a shotgun stared Dick in the face, while the fingers of the fugitive rested on the triggers of the gun.
"If you're looking for me," grimaced Tag, "you've found me! I'm right here, and this is going to be my dizzy day!"