"I wonder if it wouldn't be worth while to take a spin on the wheel," he mused as he considered the matter; "the chances are the weather will change any day now, and then good-bye to wheeling for the season. Besides, I really believe I'd like to turn down that road to Fayette, and take another look at that old bridge. There are a few things I don't quite understand about that affair." The thought aroused him. Again he felt the blood circulating through his veins with the old-time vigor; the stagnation had departed, and it was with considerable elation that he hurried to get his bicycle. The fact that the bridge was a matter of ten miles or more away did not give him cause for worry. He could easily make it in an hour or less, and be back long before suppertime. As he passed the school building he waved his hand to old Soggy, the janitor and custodian, who was busily engaged with his daily duties. "Off after another lot, are ye?" laughed the good-natured old fellow; "well, this time bring 'em in yourself, and don't be botherin' no poor sheriff to help out. You ought to be ashamed, my boy!" Frank knew that old Soggy would have his joke, and he only laughed in response. That was the one thing objectionable in doing anything out of the ordinary run; every person thought they had a right, either to make a hero out of him, or else sneer at the story as something like the accepted fish yarn. His wheel was in good shape, as always; the road seemed much better for a bicycle than it had been for a car, and with the bracing atmosphere made a combination difficult to surpass. Before the hour was up he had dropped off at the bridge, and stood there leaning on the rail looking down. "H'm! after all, it was a good thing I knew so much about this same place. If I'd jumped ten feet further along I'd have come slap down on that ugly looking bunch of rocks that stick their noses up above the water. Juniper is low, like all the other streams around here, after this dry fall. But I knew there was a deep pool right under and below the bridge." So he mused as in imagination his eye followed his course after reaching the water. He could see just where he had crawled out, as Jim discovered later, when the fugitive was already half-way back to the road again. "He had to run uphill, and that's one reason why he couldn't head me off, as Bart wanted him to do. Then that lame arm prevented him from shooting decently. On the whole, I guess I was mighty lucky," he concluded. After lingering around for a short time he once more mounted his wheel and headed back toward Columbia. There were short-cuts that he knew from former usage, by means of which several miles might be saved. Something seemed to beckon him along this course, though he hardly understood why he should want to shorten his run when he was out for the exercise and air.