But this did not draw the others away; they felt that Bob had a parcel for which they meant to catch him. On and on, through the grove, dodging, squirming past trees, through briers, Bob went.
Curt, at the field, with the engine idling on the airplane, did not hear the pursuit until Bob, almost worn out, nearly done, came racing along. Then, seeing him, Curt ran to meet him. From the grove behind came the crash and shout of pursuers.
“The books—hide!—” Bob could say no more.
Curt caught the package as Bob hurled it. Then, with an instinct that amounted to genius, Bob noted a flattish stone, and as he ran he bent, pausing an instant, and came up tugging along the small, flattish boulder that, in the dark could be mistaken for the package of books. Unconcernedly, as though watching in the role of a spectator, standing on the parcel of books, Curt remained quiet, and the men raced past him.
From the road, where he flung his bicycle, knowing well where Bob would head for, Al arrived. He raced toward the airplane just as Bob ran in the same direction with his boulder.
Al, not unnerved by his excitement, realized that if the propeller was turning, some chocks or other means of holding back the ship were in place. He bent under the wheels as Bob arrived.
“Get in!” he cried. Bob, pretending to drop the books in, let the boulder fall beside the turf. While he was climbing in, the men paused for an instant by Curt who said, sharply, “There he goes!”
They turned, saw Bob was making for the airplane, and ran toward him.
Al tumbled into the rear cockpit, determined not to be caught after the enmity he had awakened.
“Take me!” he cried, but the roar of the engine drowned his voice as Bob, risking everything, in the dark, opened the throttle.