ied Betty who clung tightly to his arm and implored him
not to fight. It seemed to the lad that the better part of valor
would be to take to his heels.

"You cut for the station," he muttered swiftly to Betty. "Get the
bags--train's almost due. I'll run up the street and lose 'em
somewhere on the way. They won't touch you."

He said this hardly moving his lips, and Betty did not catch every
word. But she heard enough to understand what was expected of her
and what Bob planned to do. She loosened her hold on his arm.

Like a shot, Bob made for the door, banged the screen open wide
(Betty heard it hit the side of the building), and fled up the
straggling, uneven street. Instantly the five toughs were in pursuit.

Betty heard the counter-man calling to her, but she ran from the
place and sped toward the station. It was completely deserted, and a
written sign proclaimed that the 1:52 train was ten minutes late.
Betty judged that the ticket agent, with whom they had left their
bags, would return in time to check them out, and she sat down on one
of the dusty seats in the fly-specked waiting-room to wait for the
arrival of Bob.

That young man, as he ran, was racking his brains for a way to elude
his pursuers. There were no telegraph poles to climb, and even if
there had been, he wanted to get to Betty and the station, not be
marooned indefinitely. He glanced back. The hoodlums, for such they
were, were gaining on him. They were out of training, but their
familiarity with the walks gave them a decided advantage. Bob had to
watch out for holes and sidewalk obstructions.

He doubled down a street, and then the solution opened out before
him. There was a grocery store, evidently a large shop, for he had
noticed the front door on the street where the restaurant was
situated. Now he was approaching the rear entrance and a number of
packing cases cluttered the walk, and excelsior was lying about. A
backward glance showed him that the enemy had not yet rounded the
corner. Bob dived into the store.

"Hide me!" he gasped, running plump into a white-haired man in
overalls who was whistling "Ben Bolt" and opening cases of canned
peaches with pleasant dexterity. "Hide me quick. There's a gang after
me--five of 'em!"

"Under the counter, Sonny," said the groceryman, hardly looking at
Bob. "Just lay low, and trust Micah Davis to 'tend to the scamps."

Bob crawled under the nearest counter and in a few minutes he heard
the men a