"The same, Fred."
"The fellow who escaped from prison, or the hospital?" asked Powell.
"That's the chap."
Without delay the rowboat was turned in toward the overhanging tree.
Scarcely had this been done when the fisherman pulled in his line with all speed, took up his string of fish and ran into the bushes between two cliffs of rocks.
"He is getting out, and in a hurry too!" said Fred.
"Hi, there, stop! We want to talk to you!" sang out Tom, at the top of his lungs.
"Ain't got time," roared back the strange fisherman, and on the instant he was gone.
"It must have been Arnold Baxter, beyond a doubt," said Sam.
"If it was, what is he doing here?" questioned his brother.
"He's keeping out of the reach of the law," answered Powell. "I suppose he thought he was perfectly safe in such an out-of-the-way place as this."
"And he was fishing just to kill time," put in Fred.
"I'd like to go after him and make sure," went on Tom. "What do you say, Sam?"
