“Guess I’ve sprained it,” he mused. The pain was actually sickening, and made him feel faint. Through an open window on the first floor he heard some one exclaim: “What was that noise?” “What noise?” asked another. “It sounded like some one falling.” “Guess you were dreaming! Get up and make some coffee. I’m half starved.” “All right,” said the one who had first spoken. “But I’ll just have a look at that bird upstairs. He’s cute—maybe he’s got away. I’ll have a look at him before I get breakfast!” “I’ve got to run for it—and right away!” thought Tom desperately. “Though how I’m going to do it with a sprained ankle is more than I know. But it will never do to let them catch me again.” The grass was tall and rank under the window. It would afford the fugitive cover until he could get to some better shelter. He began crawling through it, deeming this safer than trying to stand up and run. His concealment would be better in this position and it would take the strain off his hurt ankle. He hoped it was only a sprain and not a break. He had not crawled more than a hundred feet from the old house before he heard coming from it shouts that told that his escape had been discovered. “Now I’m in for it!” he mused. Just ahead of him he saw a brook, not very deep but rather wide. “If I stand up and run they’re sure to see me,” he reasoned. “And if I crawl I’ll leave a trail in the grass like a big snake. If I can get to the brook and crawl along in that I may throw them off the trail for a while.” It seemed the best thing to do, and while the men back at the house were running about “in circles,” so to speak, Tom crawled to the brook, and then, having no particular choice, since he did not know where he was, he began crawling upstream. He did not hope to throw his enemies off his trail long in this way, nor did he. They were soon shouting as they ran down the grass-covered and weed-grown yard, for the open window had told them which way he had gone. The trick of going into the brook confused them for a while, but Tom knew they would separate into two parties and soon trace him. He was desperate and at his wits’ end when he saw just ahead of him on the edge of the stream an old barrel, partly embedded in the sandy shore. He could get into this without leaving the water, and as its open end was turned rather upstream he might escape observation. It did not take him long to get into the barrel. He took care to leave no tell-tale trail, and his strategy was well carried out, for a little later, splashing their way upstream, ran two of the men—Tom could see them through a hole in the closed end of the barrel. “But I’d better not stay here,” the lad mused. “They’re sure to come back, and the next time they might take a notion to investigate this barrel. I’ll strike across country until I get to a house. There must be people living around here.”