Cadets to the Rescue, or, Faraday's Cordon of Death — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: ~ ‘ * , ' Fe a - A> ~ - . . ~ £ J . * > be ba! > he | + « to o ° > , ; “Ir0 ON THE WHEEL, : - to g > ‘ - yh ay mninably and a person could travel for miles without meeting a human being. Clif calculated that the refugees would halt before morning. Having lost themselves, they would uot feel that they had any reason to fear being overtaken. Pushing his bicycle by his side, Clif followed the coursé of tlie stream, crossing the timber, deeming that a likely guide for the fugitives as well. He had gone sone three miles when he halted—a taint of tobacco smoke pervaded thie air. > Clif sniffed sharply, got direction bearing, and started up a still hunt. He set lis Pierre against a tree on the bank, Back from the shore were frequent clumps of bushes, and Clif cautiously stole from one to another, peering now, for the tobacco taint had evaporated. Sudd enly le saw a form—liis pulses stirred—a form in Saat uuiforimn. Was hie seen as well? It seemed so, for the heure sprang away—disappeared. It seemed to sink into the ground where there was a depression. Clif ran fast on the trail, to come to the edge of a great saw-dust pit. “Where ?”’ lie ardently whispered to himself, sta- tioned there—‘‘and who?”? Early dawn was breaking, and he peered. every- where about. The spot had been recently cleared of timber, and he could not get away from the fact that the vanrele ing floure had been swallowed up right at the edge of the saw-dust pit. Peeing down into it, he linagined he traced a inovement. Clif’s suspicions took fire. He juinped down. “Ouch !’? howled a stentorian voice. Upon its owner’s foot Clif had landed. p here the fugitive had burrowed, and sawdust hw - om Ps ey: ame ae *