“Reggie! Reggie!” she called, waving her uninjured hand at a young man in the car. “Reggie, Prince bolted with me! Come over here!”
The machine was stopped with a screeching of brakes, and the young fellow leaped out.
“Why, Mabel!” he cried, as he came sprinting across the field. “Are you hurt? What happened? Dad got anxious about you being gone so long, and I said I’d look you up in my car. Are you hurt, Mabel?”
Joe made a mental note that of all names he liked best that of Mabel—especially when the owner had brown eyes.
“Only a sprained wrist, Reggie. This gentleman hit Prince with a stone and saved me from going over the cliff.”
“Oh, he did!”
By this time the youth from the auto was beside Joe and the girl. The two young men faced each other. Joe gave a gasp of surprise that was echoed by the other, for the youth confronting our hero was none other than he who had accused Joe of robbing that odd valise.