A mile--two.

Then a figure came out of the woods just ahead of him, cut across the road and detoured into the scraggly hills on the other side, without noticing the approaching Houston in the shadows.

But Barry had been more fortunate.
The moonlight had shown full on the man's lean face and gangling form; it was undoubtedly Fred Thayer.

He was still in the neighborhood, then.
Had he been the man in the woods,--the one who had stood silhouetted on the hill top?
Barry could only guess.

Again he chided himself for his inquisitiveness and walked on.