"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 have searched the barn." "He's a fool. I heard his talk through the cracks, and there's nothing in that case but a suit of clothes, and I've got to have it. It's all I've got in the world." "Then you won't miss it much! I'm giving you a chance to get away. If you don't take it and clear out in ten seconds, I'll call Whittlesey. He's still talking to Fred just a little way down the lane." As she turned to reassure herself of the fact, he made a dive for the suit-case, brought it out and rushed toward the rear door. His foot caught on the edge of a rough plank and he fell headlong, the case flying from his hand. Phil pounced upon it, flung it with all her strength into the farthest corner of the barn, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him through the door. She drew it shut, jerked the bar into place, and ran through the front door into the barn-lot. She continued running until she had gained the mound on which the house stood. She reasoned that the fugitive would hardly venture to reenter the barn, as this would bring him into the open lot with a possibility of encountering new foes. She saw him presently stealing along the edge of the field toward the creek, dodging along the stake-and-rider fence and pausing frequently to rest or make sure that he was not followed. She saw Whittlesey bid Fred good-bye, watched the young farmer return to his corn-planting, and heard his voice as he called cheerily to the horses.