The High School Left End Part 4

"Yes; I make out a couple of lanterns," a.s.sented Dave. "Well"---as d.i.c.k pulled in the horse---"aren't you going to drive over there?"

"That's what I want to think about," declared young Prescott.

"I want to go at the job the right way---the way that real newspapermen would use."

CHAPTER III

d.i.c.k STUMBLES ON SOMETHING

A few moments later d.i.c.k Prescott guided the horse down a shaded lane. "Whoa!" he called, and got out.

"What, now?" questioned Darrin, as his chum began to hitch the horse to a tree.

"I'm going to prowl over by the bend, and see who's there and what they are doing."

Having tied the horse, d.i.c.k turned and nodded to his friend to walk along with him.

"You know Bradley told us," Prescott explained, "that the police do not know that Dodge's disappearance has leaked out to the press.

Most folks in Gridley know that I write for 'The Blade.' So I'm in no hurry to show up among the searchers. I intend, instead, to see what they're doing. By going quietly we can approach, through that wood, and get close enough to see and hear without making our presence known."

"I understand," nodded Darrin.

Within two or three minutes the High School reporter and his chum had gained a point in the bushes barely one hundred and fifty feet away from where two men and a boy, carrying between them two lanterns, were closely examining the ground near the bank.

One of the men was Hemingway, who was a sort of detective on the Gridley police force. The other man was a member of the uniformed force, though just now in citizen's dress. The boy was Bert Dodge, son of the missing banker, and one of the best football men of the senior cla.s.s of Gridley High School.

"It's odd that we can't find where the trail leads to," the eavesdroppers heard Hemingway mutter presently.

"I'm afraid," replied young Dodge, with a slight choke in his voice, "that our failure is due to the fact that water doesn't leave any trail."

"So you think your father drowned himself?" asked Hemingway, looking sharply at the banker's son.

"If he didn't, then some one must have pushed him into the river,"

argued Bert, in an unsteady voice.

"And I'm just about as much of the opinion," retorted Hemingway, "that your father left his hat and coat here, or sent them here, and didn't even get his feet wet."

"That's preposterous," argued the son, half indignantly.

"Well, there is the spot, right there, where the hat and coat were found. Now, for a hundred feet away, either up or down stream, the ground is soft. Yet there are no tracks such as your father would have left had he taken to the water close to where he left his discarded garments," argued Hemingway, swinging his lantern about.

"We've pretty well trodden down whatever footprints might have been here," disputed Bert Dodge. "I shan't feel satisfied until daylight comes and we've had a good chance to have the river dragged."

"Well, of course, it is possible you know of a reason that would make your father throw himself into the river?" guessed Officer Hemingway, with a shrewd glance at the son.

"Neither my mother nor I know anything about my father that would supply a reason for his suicide," retorted Bert Dodge stiffly.

"But I can't see any reason for believing anything except that my poor dad must now be somewhere in the river."

"We'll soon be able to do the best that we can do by night," rejoined Hemingway. "Chief Coy has gone after a gasoline launch that carries an electric search-light. As soon as he arrives we'll go all over the river, throwing the light on every part of the water in search of some further clue. There's no use, however, in trying to do anything more around here. We may as well be quiet and wait."

"I can't stand still!" sounded Dodge's voice, with a ring of anguished suspense in it. "I've got to keep hunting."

"Go ahead, then," nodded the detective. "We would, too, if there were anything further that could be looked into. But there isn't.

I'm going to stop and smoke until the launch heaves in sight."

Both policemen threw themselves on the ground, produced pipes and fell to smoking. But Bert Dodge, with the restlessness of keen distress, continued to stumble on up and down along the bank, flas.h.i.+ng the lantern everywhere.

Presently Dodge was within sixty feet of where his High School mates crouched in hiding.

Suddenly the livery stable horse, some four or five hundred feet away, whinnied loudly, impatiently.

Natural as the sound was, young Dodge, in the tense state of his nerves, started and looked frightened.

"Wh-what was that?" he gasped.

"A horse," called Hemingway quietly. "Probably some critter pa.s.sing on the road."

"I wish you'd see who's with that horse," begged young Dodge.

"It may bring us news. I'm going, anyway."

With that, swinging the lantern, Bert Dodge started to cut across through the woods with its fringe of bushes.

Dave Darrin slipped away, and out of sight. Before d.i.c.k could do so, however, young Dodge, moving at a fast sprint, was upon him.

Bert stopped as though shot when he caught sight of the other boy.

"d.i.c.k Prescott?" he gasped.

"Yes," answered d.i.c.k quietly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see what news there is about the finding of your father."

Hemingway had now reached the spot, with the other policeman some yards to the rear.

"You write for 'The Blade,' don't you?" challenged Bert.

"Yes," d.i.c.k a.s.sented.

"And 'The Blade' people sent you here?" cried Bert Dodge, in a voice haughty with displeasure.

"Perhaps 'The Blade' sent me here," d.i.c.k only half admitted.

"Sent you here to pry into other people's affairs and secrets,"

continued young Dodge impetuously. Then added, threateningly: