woods in the direction of the road. They watched him go. So did the farmer.
“Hey, where’s he going?” he called.
“Says he’s going to look for your friend, the constable,” answered Dick, carelessly.
“Ain’t no use in you running away,” said Mr. Ewing. “We’ll get ye.”
“Well, you don’t see us running away, do you?” asked Roy, haughtily. “We haven’t done anything to run away for.”
“Don’t you suppose we might fix those ropes so’s we can let go in a hurry?” asked Dick, softly.
“We can try it,” responded Roy, with a glance toward the river beyond the point. “Wait a minute longer. Then we’ll go down there. Maybe we can loosen the knots a bit.” He looked anxiously at his watch. It showed the hour to be ten minutes to nine. “I hope that constable doesn’t take it into his head to appear for a few minutes yet.”
“So do I. Shall we go now?”
“Yes, come along.”
They got up and sauntered back to where the Slow Poke lay, Mr. Ewing eying them suspi-
