r senses alert. The rear door
of the barn had been opened during her brief absence. She saw across the
fields the trees that marked the Turkey Run defile, and she was
confident that this long vista had not been visible when she first
entered. She took a step toward the stall where she had found the
suit-case, looked round cautiously before bending down to draw it out
again, and a pair of eyes met hers, unmistakably Charles Holton's eyes,
fear-struck, as he peered across a farm wagon behind which he had
concealed himself. While she had been talking to Whittlesey in the
barn-lot, he had stolen in by the rear door to be nearer his booty.

Phil walked to the door and glanced toward Listening Hill. A quarter of
a mile away she saw Whittlesey and Fred conversing earnestly at the edge
of the cornfield. No one else was in sight. The farm hands were
scattered over the fields, and were not likely to visit the barn until
they brought home their teams. Phil, standing in the door, spoke in a
low tone.

"You can get away, by the back door. The sheriff's talking to Fred down
the lane; his man's watching Stop 7. Go back to the Run and follow it to
the red covered bridge. Keep away from the trolley line; they're
watching it. Better make for Gaston's and take the Chicago train
there--it comes along a little before five."

He was furtively creeping round the wagon while Phil spoke. She heard
the creaking of the planks and turned to see him tiptoeing toward the
stall. His clothing was soiled and crumpled. His bent, slinking figure
as he stole toward his booty affected her disagreeably. She took a step
toward him.

"You can't do that; you can't have that."

"It's all the baggage I've got; just a few clothes," he muttered
huskily. "I crawled in here last night to sleep. I've got to see Fred
before I go. I've been waiting two days for a chance to get to him."

He watched her with fearful intentness as he continued his cautious
advance upon the stall.

"You can't have that suit-case," said Phil in a sharper tone. "Go out by
the rear door, and keep close to the fence. There's nobody in those
fields, and I'll watch till you get to the creek."

"I want my things; I've got to have them," he blurted hoarsely, his hand
on the stall-post.

"You can't have it. If you don't go at once I'll call the sheriff back.
There's nothing in that suit-case you need. Quick! Whittlesey knows
you're around here somewhere, and if it hadn't been for me he'd