It was a very fair imitation of the howl of the gray wolf. It was instantly recognized by a couple of boys clad in khaki at the gates. Ralph Kenyon and Jack Durham looked around at hearing the call of the Wolf Patrol, to which both of them belonged. Seeing their chums, and that Hugh was beckoning to them, they waited for the others to come up.
Hugh had an object in this. He was not sure but what they were fated to have some trouble with the fakir before they could get the boy started on the train he would want to take in order to reach his home. In that event numbers would be apt to cut some figure in deterring Doc Merritt from trying to take Cale from them by force. Five were better than three, especially when the additional reinforcements were a pair of husky fellows like Jack and Ralph.
One thing Hugh had noticed, which was that the boy made no attempt to tell them what his name was, or where he lived. Of course, after he got his ticket they would be apt to learn this fact; which Walter might consider a clue toward lifting the veil of mystery that seemed to cling about the identity of the other.
After leaving the Fair grounds, they headed along the thoroughfare leading into the town of Oakvale. Hundreds were going that way, with all sorts of vehicles filling the road itself, from fine cars to humble wagons, and even bicycles.
The grounds in which the yearly Exhibition was held were some little distance from the station. Perhaps ten minutes’ walk would be necessary in order to take them there, for rapid progress was out of the question on account of the congestion of the highway.
Cale was plainly nervous. He walked between Hugh and Billy, who had hold of his arms, but every minute the boy was seen to half look behind him, as though in imagination he could hear the hateful voice of the fakir ordering him to stop this foolishness and come back to his duties.
On his part, Hugh was fully determined that now they had started in this thing they would fight it through to a finish. What was the use of putting a hand to the plow unless they went to the end of the furrow? If Doc Merritt tried force, they would meet him half way. Should he appeal to the law, Hugh was ready to have all the conditions of Cale’s servitude exposed, no matter at what cost, and the boy separated from his cruel oppressor, who exercised such a strange influence over him.
Now they had gone two-thirds of the distance, and having shaken off most of the crowd by taking a side street in the town, could see the station ahead of them.
It was at this moment that Ralph Kenyon, always on the alert as became one who in times past, when he followed the profession of an amateur trapper, had pitted his sagacity against the cunning of small fur-bearing animals, uttered an exclamation.
“There’s somebody chasing after us licketty-split in a buggy, Hugh!” he said. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out to be that medicine fakir, Old Doc Merritt!”