that fellow don't make tracks," and Tom prepared to move away.
"See here, we don't want any trouble in our place," said the barkeeper. "We run a respectable house, we do."
"Then you ought to help me bag the pal of a thief," retorted Tom.
"Hold on, Tom!" came from Sam. "They're gone! They slipped through a back door!"
Tom ran up to the window again. It was true—Baxter and the man with a scar had disappeared.
"Come on back!" he cried to his brother, and both ran to the rear of the tavern. Here there was a yard, at the end of which stood a barn and a long, low carriage shed. Only a negro hostler was in sight.
"Perhaps they haven't come out yet," began Sam, when he caught sight of a buggy on a road behind the barn. It was going at a furious rate, the scarred man driving, and lashing his mettlesome horse at the same time.
"There goes the man!"
"That's so. Where is Baxter?"
"I don't know."
They ran after the buggy, but soon gave up the chase, as man and turnout disappeared around a bend leading to the woods back of Cedarville.
