"Come on, Christmas!" he hailed, branching off into the new obscure
roadway.
The dog circled him, but could not be induced to leave the main road.
Bart made a grab for the trailing rope. The animal eluded him, gave him
one reproachful look, turned its nose east, and shot off, headed for
home like an arrow.
"I've lost my ally," murmured Bart, "but I think I have got my clew.
Christmas does not like this road, which looks as if he left his captors
somewhere down its length. I'll try to locate them."
Bart followed the tortuous windings of the narrow road, through brush,
over hillocks, down into depressions, and finally into the timber.
He came to a clearing, forcing his way past a border of prickly bushes,
the tops of which seemed freshly broken, as though a wagon had recently
passed over them.
As he got past them, Bart came to a decisive halt, and stared hard and
with a thrill of satisfaction.
Twenty feet away, under a spreading tree, a horse was tethered, and
right near it was a red wagon--holding a trunk.
CHAPTER XIX
FOOLING THE ENEMY
Our hero's impulse was to at once spring into the wagon and see if the
trunk was still intact.
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