"
For the third time the wheel flashed, but as he waited for the impetus
to die, the sound of galloping hoofs broke sharply on the silence. The
scout threw himself and his bicycle over the nearest stone wall, and,
unlimbering his rifle, pointed it down the road.
He saw approaching a small boy, in a white apron, seated in a white
wagon, on which was painted, "Pies and Pastry. East Wareham." The boy
dragged his horse to an abrupt halt.
"Don't point that at me!" shouted the boy.
"Where do you come from?" demanded the scout.
"Wareham," said the baker.
"Are you carrying any one concealed in that wagon?"
As though to make sure the baker's boy glanced apprehensively into the
depths of his cart, and then answered that in the wagon he carried
nothing but fresh-baked bread. To the trained nostrils of the scout this
already was evident. Before sunrise he had breakfasted on hard tack and
muddy coffee, and the odor of crullers and mince pie, still warm,
assailed him cruelly. He assumed a fierce and terrible aspect.
"Where are you going?" he challenged.
"To Carver Centre," said the boy.
To chance Lathrop had left the decision.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240