He
crashed full-tilt into a tree, and was thrown backward. Bruised and
cut, he picked himself up and rushed off in another direction.
Fortunately he struck into some sort of a path, probably one made by
cows, and then, as his eyes recovered their faculties, he could
dimly distinguish the trees on either side of him and avoid them.
His heart, that was beating fiercely, calmed down after his first
fright, and when he had run on for several minutes he stopped.
"That--that must--have been--the--the man--from the boat," panted
our hero, whispering to himself. "He came back and saw me. I wonder
if he's after me yet?"
Tom listened. The only sound he could hear was the trill and chirp
of the insects of the woods. The pursuit, which had lasted only a
few minutes, was over. But it might be resumed at any moment. Tom
was not safe yet, he thought, and he kept on.
"I wonder where I am? I wonder where my motor-cycle is? I wonder
what I had better do?" he asked himself.
Three big questions, and no way of settling them; Tom pulled himself
up sharply.
"I've got to think this thing out," he resumed. "They can't find me
in these woods to-night, that's sure, unless they get dogs, and
they're not likely to do that. So I'm safe that far.
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