They were separating and making in different directions.
“Here’s where we divide,” said Nick. “Remember, we’ve got to have those men before they get across the line.”
“They’re ours!” said Chick.
“Easy!” added Patsy.
Patsy’s man was Cricket, and the way Patsy sprinted after him was a sight to see and remember.
Through the woods, pell-mell, raced the grafter and the detective, leaping over logs, plunging through bushes, and halting now and again to try a shot at each other.
None of the bullets took effect, and both Patsy and Cricket had soon used up their ammunition.
“It will be a give-and-take with our mitts now,” thought Patsy, “and it’s a mighty good thing that I’m the best runner. Hello! There’s a farmhouse, and Mr. Grafter is making right for it.”
There was a clearing in the woods, and Cricket leaped a fence and made for the farm buildings.
At first he headed toward the house, but a sight of the farmer and his wife, and a contingent of children, with a hired man and a bulldog in the background, caused him to change his mind.