Part 9 (1/2)

FACE TO FACE

”If you catch Porton, Dave, what will you do--turn him over to the authorities?”

”Yes, Roger.”

”Is Bixter much of a place?”

”Oh, no. There are but two stores and two churches and not over thirty or forty houses.”

”Then you may have some trouble in finding an officer. Probably the village doesn't boast of anything more than a constable and a Justice of the Peace.”

”I am not worrying about that yet, Roger,” returned our hero, grimly.

”We have got to catch Porton first.”

”Oh, I know that. But if he started for Bixter on foot we ought to be able to locate him. A stranger can't go through such a small place without somebody's noticing it.”

On and on trotted the horse, past many well-kept farms, and then through a small patch of timber land. Beyond the woods they crossed a frozen creek, and then made a turn to the northward. A short distance beyond they came in sight of the first houses that went to make up the village of Bixter.

”Well, we've not seen anything of him yet,” remarked the senator's son, as they slowed up and looked ahead and to both sides of the village street.

”No, and I don't understand it,” returned Dave. ”From what that carpenter's helper said, I thought we should overtake him before we got to Bixter. Either he must have left this road, or else he must be some walker.”

”I don't see where he could have gone if he left the road, Dave. All we pa.s.sed were lanes leading to the farms, and a path through that wood. It isn't likely he would take to the woods in this cold weather--not unless he was going hunting, and that chap back in Clayton didn't say anything about his carrying a gun.”

With the horse in a walk, they pa.s.sed down the village street and back again. As they did this they kept their eyes wide open, peering into the various yards and lanes that presented themselves.

”I'm afraid it's no use unless he is in one of these houses or in one of the stores,” was Roger's comment.

”I'll ask at the stores,” returned Dave.

The inquiries he and his chum made were productive of no results so far as locating Ward Porton was concerned. No one had seen or heard of the former moving picture actor.

”All the strangers we've seen to-day was a cigar drummer,” said one of the shopkeepers. ”And he was a fat man and about forty years old.” The other storekeeper had had no strangers in his place.

Hardly knowing what to do next, Dave and Roger returned to the cutter.

”Maybe he went farther than this,” suggested Roger. ”We might go on a mile or two and take a look.”

Now that they had come so far, Dave thought this a good idea, and so they pa.s.sed on for a distance of nearly two miles beyond Bixter. Here the sleighing became poor, there being but few farmhouses in that vicinity.

”It's no use,” said Dave, finally. ”We'll go back to Bixter, take another look around, and then return to Clayton and home.”

When they arrived once more at the village Dave suggested that he and his chum separate.

”There are a number of these lanes that lead to some back roads,” said Dave. ”Perhaps if we tramp around on foot and ask some of the country folks living around here we may get on the track of the fellow we are after.”

The senator's son was willing, and he was soon walking down a lane leading to the right while Dave went off to the left. Presently Dave came to a barn where a farmer was mending some broken harness.

”h.e.l.lo! Back again, are you?” cried the farmer, as he looked at Dave curiously. ”What brought you? Why didn't you stop when I called to you before?”