"That's Tag," muttered Dick. "Come on; we'll catch him."
"Yes; if he'll kindly permit us to get close to him," rejoined
Darry, as he ran at Dick's side.
Evidently the figure ahead had made a successful raid on the food,
for he carried a gunnysack, and that appeared to have a load inside.
"We can catch him---if we can run fast enough," declared Dick,
for just then the fugitive darted ahead with renewed speed.
"Unless he stops us with the gun," objected Dave.
"Don't let him stop you with that. I don't believe he would dare
use it on us."
"If it's only a question of 'daring,'" responded Dave, "I don't
believe there is anything that Tag Mosher would be afraid to do
at a pinch."
Owing to the storm it was dark in the great woods. Shadows were
deceptive. Though Dick and Dave ran on at pell-mell speed they
presently came to a sudden halt, looking inquiringly at each other.
"Which way did that fellow go?" demanded Dave.
"Blessed if I know," Dick admitted.
"Are we still on the right trail, and merely a mile behind him?"
"I wish I knew even that," admitted Prescott.
"We might as well go back," proposed Darry. "In these woods all
we'll get is---wet."
"All right," nodded Prescott. Discouraged with the chase, they
turned to retrace their way nearly half a mile through the soggy,
dripping woods.
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