A FRUITLESS PURSUIT
Down through the yard Tom speeded, in and out among the buildings,
looking on every side for a sight of the bold stranger. No one was
to be seen.
"He can't be very far ahead," thought Tom. "I ought to catch him
before he gets to the woods. If he reaches there he has a good
chance of getting away."
There was a little patch of trees just back of the inventor's house,
not much of a woods, perhaps, but that is what they were called.
"I wonder if he was some ordinary tramp, looking for what he could
steal, or if he was one of the gang after dad's invention?" thought
Tom as he sprinted ahead.
By this time the youth was clear of the group of buildings and in
sight of a tall, board fence, which surrounded the Swift estate on
three sides. Here and there, along the barrier, were piled old
packing-cases, so that it would be easy for a fugitive to leap upon
one of them and so get over the fence. Tom thought of this
possibility in a moment.
"I guess he got over ahead of me," the lad exclaimed, and he peered
sharply about. "I'll catch him on the other side!"
At that instant Tom tripped over a plank and went down full length,
making quite a racket. When he picked himself up he was surprised to
see the man he was after dart from inside a big box and start for
the fence, near a point where there were some packing-cases piled
up, making a good approach to the barrier. The fugitive had been
hiding, waiting for a chance to escape, and Tom's fall had alarmed
him.
"Here! Hold on there! Come back!" cried the youth as he recovered
his wind and leaped forward.
But the man did not stay. With a bound he was up on the pile of
boxes, and the next moment he was poised on top of the fence. Before
leaping down on the other side, a jump at which even a practiced
athlete might well hesitate, the fleeing stranger paused and looked
back. Tom gazed at him and recognized the man in an instant. He was
the third of the mysterious trio whom the lad had seen in the
Mansburg restaurant.
"Wait a minute! What do you want sneaking around here?" shouted Tom
as he ran forward. The man returned no answer, and an instant later
disappeared from view on the other side of the fence.
"He jumped down!" thought Tom. "A big leap, too. Well, I've got to
follow. This is a queer proceeding. First one, then the second, and
now the third of those men seem determined to get something here. I
wonder if this one succeeded? I'll soon find out."
The lad was up on the pile of packing-cases and over the fence in
almost record time. He caught a glimpse of the fugitive running
toward the woods. Then the boy leaped down, jarring himself
considerably, and took after the man.
But though Tom was a good runner he was handicapped by the fact that
the man had a start of him, and also by the fact that the stranger
had had a chance to rest while hiding for the second time in the big
box, while Tom had kept on running. So it is no great cause for
wonder that Mr. Swift's son found himself being distanced.
Once, twice he called on the fleeing one to halt, but the man paid
no attention, and did not even turn around. Then the youth wisely
concluded to save his wind for running. He did his best, but was
chagrined to see the man reach the woods ahead of him.
"I've lost him now," thought Tom. "Well, there's no help for it."
Still he did not give up, but kept on through the patch of trees. On
the farther side was Lake Carlopa, a broad and long sheet of water.
"If he doesn't know the lake's there," thought our hero, "he may
keep straight on. The water will be sure to stop him, and I can
catch him. But what will I do with him after I get him? That's
another question. I guess I've got a right to demand to know what he
was doing around our place, though."
But Tom need not have worried on this score. He could hear the
fugitive ahead of him, and marked his progress by the crackling of
the underbrush.
"I'm almost up to him," exulted the young inventor. Then, at the
same moment, he caught sight of the man running, and a glimpse of
the sparkling water of Lake Carlopa. "I've got him! I've got him!"
Tom almost cried aloud in his excitement. "Unless he takes to the
water and swims for it, I've got him!"
But Tom did not reckon on a very simple matter, and that was the
possibility of the man having a boat at hand. For this is just what
happened. Reaching the lake shore the fugitive with a final spurt
managed to put considerable distance between himself and Tom. Drawn
up on the beach was a little motor-boat. In this, after he had
pushed it from shore, the stranger leaped. It was the work of but a
second to set the engine in motion, and as Tom reached the edge of
the woods and started across the narrow strip of sand and gravel
that was between the water and the trees, he saw the man steering
his craft toward the middle of the lake.
"Well--I'll--be--jiggered!" exclaimed the youth. "Who would have
thought he'd have a motor-boat waiting for him? He planned this
well."
There was nothing to do but turn back. Tom had a small rowboat and a
sailing skiff on the lake, but his boathouse was some distance away,
and even if he could get one of his craft out, the motor-boat would
soon distance it.
"He's gone!" thought the searcher regretfully.
The man in the motor-boat did not look back. He sat in the bow,
steering the little craft right across the broadest part of Lake
Carlopa.
"I wonder where he came from, and where he's going?" mused Tom.
"That's a boat I never saw on this lake before. It must be a new
one. Well, there's no help for it, I've got to go back and tell dad
I couldn't catch him." And with a last look at the fugitive, who,
with his boat, was becoming smaller and smaller every minute, Tom
turned and retraced his steps.