cery 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 grocery-man, 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 at the door.
"'Lo, Davis," said one conciliatingly. "Seen anything of a fresh kid—freckled, good clothes, right out of the East? He tried to pass some bad money at Jake Hill's. Seen him?"
Bob nearly denounced this lie, but common sense saved him. Small use in seeking protection and then refusing it.
"Haven't seen anybody like that," said the groceryman positively. "Quit bruising those tomatoes, Bud."
"Well, he won't get out of town," stated Bud
