He rolled over upon his back and lay there, with his hat covering his eyes, until a faint far-away sound led him to lift his head and listen.
“Runners!” he said. “They’re coming this way. Great Scott! are they after me?”
Jerking himself to his feet, he cautiously peered over the cluster of bushes.
Far along the road where it wound through the woods some lightly clad figures came into view. His relief was intense, for he saw at a glance that they were college lads out for an early morning run. Their white clothes, swinging bare arms, and churning legs cut moving silhouettes against the dark background of the woods.
“I mustn’t be seen,” muttered Lynch, sinking down and creeping close behind the bushes. “I’ll lie here and watch them as they pass. They won’t notice me.”
The runners were Mike’s classmates. First came Claxton, the Virginian, and Sam Kates almost shoulder to shoulder. A short distance behind them Brad Buckhart appeared.
Then came another, at sight of whom Lynch uttered a hoarse, choking cry, sought to rise and then fell back, his head swimming, his senses deserting him, completely overcome by the fearful strain and the second appearance of the “apparition.”
Dick heard a cry and caught a glimpse of the figure which dropped back behind the bushes. Shouting to his companions, he whirled to the roadside and knelt over Lynch, whom he found stretched unconscious upon the ground.
When Mike revived he found them working over him, and the boy he had so bitterly hated, the boy he had fancied dead, was one of them.
“Take him away! take him away!” cried Lynch, struggling weakly and staring at Dick with unutterable horror. “He’s dead! Don’t let him touch me!”
“He means you, partner,” said Buckhart. “I sure reckon he’s some disturbed to see you alive and kicking.”
“He’s dead!” groaned Mike. “I killed him, but I didn’t mean to do it. I wanted to run him down and let him swim for it. That’s all. I didn’t think he would drown, but I killed him, and I’m a murderer! There, I’ve confessed it now! You all hear me—I’ve confessed it! I killed him! Hang me! I suppose they will. Don’t let him look at me like that. Take him away—please take him away! Don’t look at me, Merriwell! I can’t bear those eyes. I felt you following at my heels last night. I saw you when you appeared to us at Fred’s. Even after I locked myself in my own room I knew you were near. I couldn’t stand it long. It was too much for me. You’ve forced me to confess at last. You’ve made me put my neck in a noose. Now you should be satisfied.”