“In the name of all-possessed!” exclaimed Toby Tew, “if it isn’t the Indians!”
Out rushed the crowd—down the runways toward the line of cottages backing onto yards near the swamp edge, raced the quarry.
They outdistanced the pursuit.
Old though he was, Ti-O-Ga kept pace with his son. The black dark of swamp, where none knew of any existing path, stopped the chase.
“Funny, wasn’t it,” remarked Don, as he returned to find Scott, unable to join them, waiting eagerly for results. “I never thought much about those two Indians—not in connection with this. But—that old one is smart—only-—why would they haunt the swamp, around here? I can’t imagine they have any grudge against my uncle. Uncle Bruce doesn’t know them, I’m sure.”
“Maybe Tew wasn’t so far off, earlier—how about it, Toby?—saying this was all a ‘publicity stunt’ for his picture!”
The theatre owner smiled a strange, unrevealing smile.
“I wonder—” reflected Scott. “Good stuff for the newspapers, if he did work it—but dangerous for the pilots! Man who Never Lived! A queer, disappearing map. Ghosts in clouds. When do you ‘spring’ the advertising part, eh, Toby?”
Toby was not permitted to reply.
Don, turning, saw Chick rush excitedly up from the staging where the helicopter was securely staked and tied to the waterside posts.