Sam Crocker’s yells were now half smothered, so it seemed to his companions. Then all at once they saw Sam rise from the ground, saw him with both hands clapped to his face, heard his unintelligible yells for help. The boys ran at top speed.
“What is it?” shouted George.
“Catch him!” moaned Sam, suddenly sitting down again.
“Catch whom?”
“The spy! the spy! He’s getting away. He ran that way. Chase him.”
The boys now began to understand. With one accord they spread out and began running through the grove, shouting to each other as they ran, but no trace of Sam’s spy did they find. He had had ample time to make his escape while Sam was trying to make his companions understand what had happened.
The girls had dropped their racquets and ran out, following the boys. They found the unhappy Sam, hands still pressed against his face, rocking to and fro and groaning.
“Oh, Sam, you have hurt your poor nose again,” sympathized Miss Elting. “Get a pail of water. No, we will take him back to camp where we can give him better treatment,” said the guardian. Sam permitted himself to be assisted to his feet and slowly led back to the camp of the Meadow-Brook Girls. Miss Elting promptly set to work to wash the blood from his face so that she might determine how serious was the hurt that he had received.
It was while she was thus engaged that George and his companions returned. They were in none too good humor either.
“You are a fine one to send us off on a wild goose chase like that!” growled George. “I don’t believe you saw any one at all. You must have seen a shadow.”