“Only wish he was coming this way,” began Tom. “Quick, Bob. I want a squint. We may learn something.”
“We have already!” cried Bob.
“What—what?”
Then, as Sam Randall and Thunderbolt burst in upon them, a belated suspicion of the truth flashed into Tom Clifton’s mind. His mouth opened; a deep scowl settled on his features; his fists were clenched.
“Oh—oh! What a dub I was, never to think of it! Oh—oh! It’s Larry—Larry Burnham; I know it is!”
Forgetting politeness in his eagerness Tom seized the field-glass from Bob Somers’ hands and leveled it hastily upon the tiny figure of horse and rider.
His fears were realized. There, in a bright circle of light, the high-power glass showed the image of Larry Burnham and his horse.
CHAPTER XII
TOM FOLLOWS
“The meanest thing I ever heard of!” cried Tom, handing back the binocular.
“A silly chump, all right; but he got ahead of us this time,” exclaimed Sam Randall.