"Why?" asked Dorothy. But in answer Nat squeezed her hand so hard she knew he meant for her to keep quiet.
The car flew past. Ned never glanced at those by the roadside. And how strange he looked—
"Oh, Nat!" almost screamed Dorothy. "That man had on striped clothes—like—"
"Queer kind of sweater. They come in all sorts of stripes," her cousin interrupted, with a side glance at Tavia.
"But his leg was out of the car, and that was—"
"Also striped. Yes, I noticed his suit was not exactly of the newest fall pattern, but there is no telling where a farmer may pick up his duds. Like as not his wife made the trousers out of some good strong bed ticking."
"Nat, you are trying to deceive me. That man is an escaped convict, and Ned is riding alone with him—Oh, what will become of us?" and tears welled to Dorothy's eyes. That outlet of the overstrained—a good cry—had come to her relief.
"Oh, there!" begged Nat. "Don't take on so. It will be all right. Ned will be back for us before you have your eyes dry," and he kissed his little cousin affectionately.
"And it was that awful man out of jail! I knew it! I could tell him before he ever got to the car! I can always tell when he is coming. Oh! suppose he should kill Ned—" and she burst into a fresh flood of hysterical tears.
Meanwhile Tavia had not yet heard what had happened to induce Ned to take the convict away—for Anderson it was. Nat had told her it was that awful rascal when she cautioned him to hide it from Dorothy. Certainly it was all very strange, and very dangerous.