Amory's, dressed ostensibly for a run down Westcote way. Once down
the hill they lay well out in the fields, keeping a sharp watch through
the hedges for their quarry. When they saw two well-known figures, feet
on the rest, coasting merrily down and head for Westcote, they all drew a
long breath and girded up their loins for the race.
"With luck and the short cuts," said Grim, stepping out, "we may just see
'em sneak into Pettigrew's woods."
"And we've got a mile in hand too," said Wilson.
The cronies ran tightly together, nursing their wind and keeping well
screened from eyeshot from the road, not that either Acton, or Bourne
dreamed that their afternoon's run was being dogged by anyone. From their
numerous short cuts the scouts were necessarily out of view from the
road, but they marked the two cyclists from point to point and themselves
headed up hill and down dale straight for Westcote. They felt pretty well
winded by now, as they stood panting in a breezy spinney, watching for
the appearance of their quarry on the brown road beneath them.
"There they are," gasped Wilson, pretty blown.
"There's only one," said Rogers, "and it is that young owl Bourne, too.
He's shed Acton."
"Perhaps he's punctured," suggested Grim; "anyhow, we hang on to Jack."
Rather puzzled at the non-appearance of Acton, they kept the first-comer
well in view as he pedalled hard for Westcote.
"That's Jack right enough," said Rogers; "and we'll have to leg it or
he'll slip us.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108