Of course Larry knew the answer, and all his efforts to convince himself of the soundness of his position were unavailing.
“I don’t care; I’ll do it anyway,” he muttered savagely.
Luck, however, was against him. Many times he had let opportunities slip when he could have cantered away without attracting especial attention. But to-day the crowd seemed to hang around him with exasperating persistence. Always one or another was close at his elbow.
“Confound it!” he muttered angrily. “If I don’t get off within a couple of hours it’ll be too late. I don’t want to do any traveling in the dark.”
When they were again in the saddle, cantering leisurely over the prairie, a suspicion suddenly entered his mind.
Could the boys have suspected his scheme?
Larry reflected that on several occasions he had made pretty broad hints, not expecting, however, to be taken seriously.
“What a silly idiot I was,” he murmured, in great disgust. “I’ll find out mighty soon if it’s so.”
He immediately tested his theory by riding a considerable distance in advance; and, upon glancing over his shoulder, saw a Rambler cantering not far behind. In fact, their every act showed them to be clearly on the watch.
In proportion as Larry’s anger increased, so his scruples vanished. It was now a question of either declaring himself boldly or pitting his wits against the others’. He rebelled at the idea of the former. Wasn’t he his own master? Should he be forced to submit to Tom Clifton’s sarcasm, or the loud protestations and arguments which were sure to come from all?