It was Fred Sage!
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CAPTURE.
Fred was panting, his clothes were torn, and his manner that of one overwrought with tremendous excitement. He had come from the deeper woods to the north of Turkey Hill, and was plainly hurrying homeward as fast as his feet would carry him.
Crouching behind the fallen tree, the two boys gazed in astonishment at Sage as he passed them. They could hear his panting breath and see his breast heaving, and into the minds of both leaped the strange thought that only for his exertions his face would have been ghastly pale. There was a wild expression in his eyes, like that of a person in great fear.
Hooker remained kneeling, petrified, but Piper partly rose, his lips open, as if he thought of shouting to the running lad. If this was his intention, however, he changed his mind, not uttering as much as a whisper, and stood staring after the hurrying boy, the crashing sounds of whose movements could be heard for some moments following his disappearance. Presently those sounds died out and silence fell upon the woods.
Shaking off his lethargy, Hooker rose. “Well,” he breathed, “what have you got to say about that, Pipe?”
Sleuth’s forehead was puckered in a momentary frown. Before answering, he climbed to the bole of the tree and stepped down on the other side, Roy following.
“It simply confirms my theory,” announced Piper. “Fred is badly scared. Somewhere yonder in these woods he lately parted from his brother, who is wounded and a fugitive from justice. That’s quite enough to put Fred’s nerves on the blink.”
“But why is he running for home that fashion?”
“For one reason, he doesn’t wish to be seen here in the woods by anyone searching for the bank robbers. For another reason, he must remember that there is a telltale pool of blood on the floor of his father’s stable, every trace of which I’ll guarantee will soon be removed after Fred gets home.”