IT’S NO USE! I’VE GOT YOU!
“Quick, Sam! Shoot him! Don’t miss! Let him have it!”
Even in that excitement Ethan noticed that the fellow’s appeal was to “Sam” instead of the imaginary “Dick,” whom he first addressed. The suspicion that he was alone was strengthened, and the daring New Englander put forth all his power to subdue him.
“It’s no use! I’ve got you and I’m going for you like two houses afire. Stand back, Bill, and don’t interfere; if I can’t bring him to terms, then I’m going to resign and climb a tree.”
Everything was going like a whirlwind. Although Bill Lenman preferred on such occasions as the present to be a non-combatant, he was not the one to stay idle when a friend risked his life for him. He threw the lines over the horses’ backs and sprang down to give what help he could; but in the darkness it was hard to decide in what way he could aid the other. It was evident that Durrell was pushing matters with vigor, and there was no doubt that he expected to bring the rogue to terms.
But it was easy for one in Ethan’s situation to be mistaken. As long as the fellow kept his pistol, the New Englander’s life was in danger. Bill stooped over with the intention of twisting away the weapon, but at the moment of doing so it was discharged, apparently at the driver himself, for the bullet grazed his temple.
Finding himself unable to turn the pistol on his assailant, the ruffian saw a chance of deflecting the muzzle sufficiently to hit the new-comer, as he thought, and he fired, missing him by the narrowest margin conceivable.
Before he could fire again a vigorous kick of the driver sent the weapon flying off in the darkness.
“Keep your hands off!” called Durrell, the moment he discovered his friend was near him; “I can manage him alone. If you want to do anything get ready to tie him.”
That was an easy matter, for stage-drivers are always supplied with extras, and a little skill will enable one to get along without a few straps already in use.
Durrell found his customer tough and powerful. He held him fast for some seconds, but he seemed as tireless as his assailant, and the contest would have been prolonged with the possibility of the fellow working himself loose and darting off among the trees; but fully mindful of this danger, the New Englander had recourse to heroic measures.
He tightened his grip on the fellow’s throat until he gasped for breath. This was repeated to the danger point, though the man continued to struggle as long as he had the power.
But Durrell had no wish to punish him beyond what was necessary. He now called to the driver that he could give some help if he wished. Bill appeared to be bristling with straps and ropes, and was eager to do something, for, truth to tell, he felt ashamed that, after all he had said to the New Englander, the latter had attacked the fellow so bravely, while until this moment the one chiefly concerned had given no help at all. He was anxious to make amends.
Reading the purpose of his captors and knowing that if bound all help was at an end, the robber struggled like a wild cat. He fought, kicked, struck, bit, and shouted to his friends to come to his help, addressing them by names without number, but all in vain; he could not have been more helpless if enclosed by a regiment of men. Bill Lenman was skilled in tying knots, and in less time than it would be supposed the prisoner was so firmly bound that he resembled a mummy, so far as the use of his limbs was concerned.
The moment came when he gave up in despair. He saw the game was over, and it was throwing away his strength to resist further. While he had been so ready with speech, he ceased all utterances when the first knot was secured between his elbows, and resolutely refused to utter another word.
“What are you going to do with him?” asked Lenman, as they stood him like a post on his feet.
“What are we going to do with him? why, take him to Piketon, of course, and deliver him to justice!”
“I know that,” replied Bill, with a laugh, “but I was thinking whether it was best to stow him under the seats or strap him with the trunks on behind; he might enjoy riding with that box.”
“No; we’ll take him inside with us; some of the straps might give way and we would want to be within reach of him. Where’s them boys?” asked Durrell, abruptly; “I forgot all about them while this business was going on.”
The attack and capture of the would-be stage robber consumed very little time, but it gave a chance to our young friends which they quickly turned to good account. They saw but one possible result of the affair, and concluded to make a change of base. It could not be doubted that they had done so, since neither was within sight or call.
Lenman had paid no attention to them, and it cannot be said that he regretted their absence. True, their fare remained uncollected, but that was not the first time he had carried passengers free, and he could stand it again.
The prisoner was deposited with as much care on the middle seat of the stage as though he were a package of dynamite. Durrell placed himself behind him where he could forestall any movement on his part. It would not be supposed that there was any chance of anything of that kind, but Durrell had read and heard enough of such people to understand the danger of trusting to appearances. The exploits of some of the gentry in the way of tying and untying knots would rival the Davenport brothers and other so-called “mediums.” Then, too, Durrell thought, he might have other weapons about him, for no search had been made of his garments. Anyway, it cannot be doubted that the New Englander was wise in maintaining such a vigilant watch of the fellow.
Despite this exciting incident, which threw Bill Lenman’s nerves into a more turbulent state than for years, he could not help smiling as he listened to the efforts of the New Englander to open conversation with the prisoner. Durrell’s curiosity was of the kind that it could not be kept in the background. He was interested in the man and was resolved to learn more about him.
He began in his insinuating way to inquire as to his name, how long he had been in this bad business, what led him to make such a dreadful mistake, where he was born, whether his parents were living, how many brothers and sisters he had, and so on with a list of questions which no one could remember.
But the prisoner never once opened his mouth. He saw nothing was to be gained by so doing, and, though it is not to be supposed he would have told the truth, he did not trouble himself to state fiction.
At the moment of emerging from Black Bear Swamp, Lenman was alarmed by being hailed by a stranger who asked for a ride. This was unusual, for he was now so close to Piketon that the walk would not have taxed any one.
Durrell whispered to the driver to refuse to take him up, for no doubt he was a confederate of the prisoner; but Lenman thought it more dangerous to refuse than to comply. He therefore checked his team, and told the applicant that the town was near by and he was about to indulge in a needless expense; but the stranger cared naught for that, and hastily climbed up in front and seated himself beside the driver, who peered at him as best he could in the gloom, but was unable to make out his features.
“If he tries any tricks,” said Lenman to himself, “I’ll neck him before he knows it; after that chap from New England showed such pluck I aint going to back out of the next rumpus.”
Evidently the driver felt the force of the example, for he kept a close eye on the stranger. Besides this, he thought the occasion warranted a little extra urging of the horses, and he put them to the briskest trot they had shown since leaving Belmar.
Ethan Durrell, as may be supposed, was fully as anxious as the driver, for he was almost certain the man in front was a friend of the prisoner, and if so, there was little to prevent a rescue, since, as I have shown, neither Durrell nor Lenman was armed.
The relief, therefore, was great when the lights of the little town glimmered through the darkness, and shortly after the stage came to a halt in front of the old-fashioned inn, where it had stopped regularly for so many years.
The passenger last picked up, there was reason to believe, had never seen the rogue before. The latter may be dismissed with the remark that, having been caught in the commission of his crime, he received full and merited punishment therefor.
CHAPTER XIII—ADRIFT IN THE SWAMP
Meanwhile Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern, the two youths from New York, found themselves involved in a series of singular and stirring incidents.
It will be admitted that they were not fond of meeting the kind of persons who brought the old stage to a standstill in the dismal depths of Black Bear Swamp, and, when they saw an opportunity to leave, lost no time in doing so.
They were trembling in their seats, wondering what would be the next act of the dreaded fellow dimly seen in the gloom, when Ethan Durrell performed his brave exploit which ended in the capture of the rogue.
“Now’s our chance!” whispered Jim, who saw the couple struggling on the ground; “bimeby he’ll kill that greenhorn and next the driver and then our turn will come.”
“If that’s so, I don’t see any use in waiting,” replied Tom, losing no time in scrambling out of the coach, and dropping to the ground in such haste that he fell forward on his hands and knees.
The driver and the New Englander were too much engaged at that moment to pay any heed to the youths, who were in such desperate haste to get away from the spot that they dashed among the trees at the imminent risk of seriously bruising themselves.
After pressing forward until they were nearly out of breath, they came to a halt in the depths of the wood for consultation. They had managed to reach a point some distance from the highway, where they felt safe for the time.
“It’s lucky we were cool enough to bring our guns with us,” was the bright remark of McGovern, “or there’s no telling what might have happened.”
“Do you think those robbers will follow us, Jim?”
“Of course they will; you don’t suppose they want us to testify in court against them and have them hanged, do you?”
“But we didn’t see them plain enough to know them again.”
“That don’t make any difference,” was the brilliant reply, “for I would know that fellow’s voice among a thousand.”
“I guess maybe you’re right; it won’t do for us to go back to the road, for we would be sure to run against them.”
“No; we’ll push on through the woods till we come out somewhere. If we were only acquainted with the country we would know what to do, but there’s no saying where we’ll fetch up.”
At such times a person feels safer while in motion, and, though the young men had no more idea of the points of the compass than if adrift in mid-ocean, they pressed on, impelled by their anxiety to place all the space possible between themselves and the stage-robbers, who, they believed, numbered three at least.
They agreed that the New Englander was the most foolish of persons in attacking the criminal, for, even if he succeeded in bearing him to the ground and overcoming him, his companions had already rallied to his help and would quickly dispatch him and the driver.
Jim and Tom listened for sounds of the conflict, and the fact that they heard no shouts or more reports of fire-arms did not lessen their belief that it was all over with Lenman and Durrell.
The boys were still picking their way through the lonely woods when they found their feet sinking in the spongy earth and were stopped by a morass which grew worse at every step.
“It won’t do to go any farther over this road,” said Wagstaff, who was a few steps in advance, “for the water is getting deeper and I don’t believe there are any boats for us to use.”
The obvious course was to turn back and make an abrupt change in their route. This was done and they soon were walking over the dry leaves.
“Tom,” whispered his companion, who was still a few feet behind him, “somebody is following us.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Wagstaff, stopping short and looking around in the gloom; “are you sure of that?”
“Listen!”
Both were silent. There certainly was a rustling of the leaves behind them, which could not have been made by the wind, for hardly a breath of air stirred the branches. The violent disturbance that had so alarmed them when riding in the coach had entirely subsided and was succeeded by a calm that gave no sign of the flurry.
“It’s one of them robbers,” was the frightened reply of Tom, “and he’s after us sure enough.”
“You’re right; what shall we do?”
“How would it work to climb a tree?”
“What good would that do?” was the sensible question of Jim.
“He wouldn’t know where we were, and by and by would give up the hunt.”
“That won’t work. Why, Tom, I forgot; we’ve got our guns and they’re loaded; why not use them?”
“That’s so. I didn’t think of that, but we must look out that he don’t get in the first shot, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” added Tom, stepping so close to his friend that his mouth almost touched his ear; “you walk around back of him, so as to place him between us; then we’ll come toward each other and the first one that gets sight of him will drop him.”
Jim was not over pleased with the plan, since it looked to him as if his task was to be the most dangerous, but he could not well refuse. He therefore faced the other way, and began advancing with the utmost care, making a circuit to the right so as to be certain of not running against the dreaded individual.
In fact, the young man made a larger circuit than was necessary, but he kept his bearings, so that when he once more approached Tom it was in a direct line and the stranger was between them.
McGovern held his rifle tightly grasped, ready to raise and fire the moment he caught sight of their enemy. While there was a little light here and there among the trees, it gave neither him nor his companion any help. It was so early in the autumn that few leaves had fallen, and, had he not used extreme care, literally feeling every step of his way, he would have been injured by the projecting limbs and the numerous trunks of the trees.
While it may be supposed that the strategy of the young men had placed their foe at great disadvantage, they found themselves hindered by the impossibility of giving or receiving any mutual signals. Since the stranger was closer to both than Tom and Jim were to each other, any attempt to send word over his head was certain to be caught and understood by him. All that could be done, therefore, by the young men was to follow the lines hastily marked out before they separated.
Jim having approached his friend as far as was prudent, stopped to decide what to do next. The boys were not thoughtless enough to lose sight of the danger to themselves in carrying out their plan. Since they were coming together each was liable to mistake the other for an enemy. They had not thought of this at first, but both remembered it now, and each decided not to fire at any person who might come into view until first challenging him.
In no other way could a fatal mistake be guarded against, and when, therefore, Jim had stood motionless a minute or two, and was sure he heard the same rustling in front, he simply brought his gun to his shoulder.
“Tom, is that you?” he asked, in a subdued voice that could not fail to reach the stranger.
The noise ceased, but there was no answer. The youth now slightly raised his voice:
“If you don’t speak I’ll fire! I see you and won’t miss.”
The stillness continued unbroken, and the stranger did not stir. It was impossible in the darkness to make him out clearly, but sufficient could be seen to insure the success of a shot at so short a range.
“I’m going to fire, look out! One—two—three!”
Mr. McGovern ought to have reflected that no man, especially one trained in wrong-doing, would stand up in this fashion and wait for another to perforate him; but at the utterance of the last word Jim let fly straight at the figure, and what is more, he struck it.
The hair of the youth seemed to lift his hat from his head, as a strange cry broke the stillness, and he heard the body, after a single spasmodic leap, fall on the leaves, where, after a few struggles, it lay still.
“Have you killed him?” called the horrified Tom, hurrying from his station a few rods away.
“I’ve killed something” was Jim’s reply, who, drawing his pocket safe, struck a match and held it over his head, while both stooped over and examined the trophy of their skill and strategy.
“Jim,” said Tom, the next moment, “I’ll agree never to say anything about this, for I’m in it as bad as you.”
“It’s a bargain,” was the reply of the other; “we’ll never tell Bob, even, for he would plague us to death.”
The object before them was a six months’ old calf. It had probably become lost in the woods, and, hearing persons walking, followed them with a dim idea that they were friends and would take care of it. The result was a sad example of misplaced confidence.
Certain now that nothing was to be feared from the rogues that must have disposed of Lenman and Durrell long before, the youths resumed their progress through the wood with the same aimless effort that had marked their journey from the first.
It was not long after their incident with the calf that both noticed that they had entered what seemed to be a valley of slight descent. The sound of running water warned them to be careful of their steps, though it was evident the stream was small.
Wagstaff still kept his place slightly in advance, and was picking his way with the same care he had shown from the first, when he stopped short once more.
“What is it?” asked his companion, stepping to his elbow.
“What the mischief can that be?” asked Tom, in reply.
Although Jim could not see the extended arm, he knew his friend was pointing at something which was now observed by him, and whose appearance mystified him beyond expression.
“It must be a ghost,” he whispered; “I can’t make it out!”
“Don’t stir; wait and see; gracious, it’s moving!”
CHAPTER XIV—HOST AND GUESTS
Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern might well be puzzled at the sight which greeted them while picking their way through the wood.
A strong light seemed to be shining through a screen. At first it was stationary, its appearance preventing them from guessing its nature. While they stood silent, wondering and frightened, on the point of retreating, the shadow of a person glided in front of the light. It was grotesque and gigantic, and flitted across their field of vision, disappearing as quickly as it had come to view. The next moment some one was seen holding a lamp in his hand and peering out in the gloom.
Then the whole explanation broke upon them. They had come upon a tent in the wood, the light shining through the canvas and producing the effect which first puzzled them. The person inside passed between them and the lamp, so that his shadow was flung on the screen in front. Then he picked up the light, and pushing aside the flap, peered out in the gloom.
As he did so the glare from the lamp fell upon his face and showed his features so distinctly that both boys recognized him, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and delight.
“Bob Budd, as I live! Why, you’re the very fellow we’re looking for!” called out Tom Wagstaff, as he and his companion hurried forward and greeted their friend, whose amazement was equal to theirs when he held the light above his head and recognized them.
“Where under the sun did you come from?” he asked, all three walking into the tent after shaking hands, and seating themselves, while the host set the light on a small stand at one side.
“I didn’t expect you for a week or two,” added Bob, whose pleasure could not be concealed.
“Well,” replied Jim, with a laugh, “we set out to surprise you, and I guess we succeeded.”
“There’s no doubt of that,” said Bob; “but tell me how you found the way to this spot.”
The visitors were not quite willing to give the whole truth, and Tom ventured the explanation.
“We came most of the way in the cars,” said he, “but got off at a little station a few miles out to tramp across the country, thinking we might pick up some game on the way. We didn’t make out very well, and rode to Black Bear Swamp in the stage. There we got out again and set out to find you.”
“How did you know where to look?”
“The driver told us you had a camp out this way somewhere, and we thought we might stumble over it.”
This narrative was so brief in the way of details that the boys ran some risk of having it overturned when the account of the driver and his passenger should be heard, but fortunately for them, Durrell and Lenman forebore any references to the unworthy part played by the youths, and Bob Budd remained ignorant of the real cause of the abrupt flight of his friends, and their taking to the shelter of Black Bear Swamp.
“I’ve had the tent up for three days,” added the host, who was about the age of his guests, “and it’s so well stored with eatables and drinkables that I come out every night to take a look at it, so as to make sure no tramps or thieves are prowling around. I was about to go home when you hailed me. Shall we go to the house or stay here till morning?”
“I don’t see that this can be improved on,” replied Tom, looking admiringly about him; “we’re pretty well tuckered out, and I would as lief stay here till morning anyway.”
“Those are my sentiments,” added Jim, much pleased with the survey.
“Then we’ll stay,” said Bob; “I’m glad you’re suited. Where are your trunks?”
“At the station at Piketon.”
“I’ll send the checks over in the morning and have our man bring them here. I have my own gun and some things to bring from the house, and then we’ll be in shape for a good old time in the woods. I guess, boys, a little refreshment won’t hurt us.”
The liberality of Bob Budd’s Uncle Jim and Aunt Ruth, with whom he lived (he having no parents or other near relatives), enabled him to do about as he pleased, so far as his own pleasure and self-indulgence were concerned. He quickly set a substantial lunch before his guests, of which all partook. I am sorry to say that strong drink formed a large part of the repast, all indulging liberally, after which pipes and cigarettes were produced, and they discussed their plans of enjoyment.
Wagstaff and McGovern did not hesitate to admit that they had run away from home for the purpose of having this outing. The fact that their parents were sure to be distressed over their absence was a theme for jest instead of regret.
“They’ll learn to appreciate us when we go back,” said Wagstaff, with a laugh, as he puffed his villainous decoction of tobacco and poison; “you see, if Jim and I went home now they would be apt to scold; but they will be so glad at the end of a fortnight that they’ll kill the fatted calf and make us welcome.”
“A good idea,” commented Bob, passing back the flask to McGovern; “you see, my uncle and aunt love me so dearly that they don’t object to anything I do, though now and then Aunt Ruth holds up Dick Halliard as a model for me.”
“We saw that lovely young man while we were in the stage,” remarked Wagstaff; “he went by us on his bicycle.”
“Yes; he rides a wheel well, but it makes me mad to see him.”
“Why so?”
“Well, he’s younger than me, and I used to go to school with him; he’s one of those fellows who don’t like many things a wide-awake chap like me does, and he has a way of telling you of it to your face.”
“That’s better than doing it behind your back,” suggested Jim.
“He has no right to do it at all; what business is it of his if I choose to smoke, take a drink now and then, and lay out the other boys when they get impudent?”
“It’s nothing to him, of course; we’ll settle his hash for him before we go back. I shouldn’t wonder,” added Tom, with a wink, “if he should find that bicycle of his missing some day.”
“That would hit him harder than anything else,” remarked Bob, pleased with the remark; “I’ve thought of the same thing, but haven’t had a good chance to spoil it. I say, boys, we’ll have just the jolliest times you ever heard of.”
“It won’t be our fault if we don’t,” assented Jim, while his companion nodded his head as an indorsement of the same views.
“Is there good hunting in these parts?”
“It, isn’t as good as up among the Adirondacks or out West in the Rocky Mountains, but I think we can scare up some sport. I’ve a good hunting dog, and as soon as we get things in shape we’ll see what we can do. What sort of game do you prefer?”
“Anything will suit me—elephants, tigers, rhinoceroses, and the like; or, if we can’t do better, I wouldn’t mind a bear or deer.”
“I daresn’t promise much, but we’ll have the fun anyway, and that’s what we all want more than anything else.”
The boys kept up their conversation until the night was well along, and all were in high spirits over the prospect. They smoked and drank until, when they lay down in slumber, they were in that plight that they did not waken till the sun was high in the heavens.
The day was so cloudy and overcast that, although it cleared up before noon, they decided to defer their hunting excursion until the following morning, or perhaps the one succeeding that. Tom and Jim accompanied Bob to his uncle’s, where they were made welcome by his relatives, though it must be said that neither was specially pleased with their looks and conduct. They made themselves at home from the first, and their conversation was loud and coarse; but then they were friends of the petted nephew, and that was all sufficient.
The trunks were brought from the railway station by Uncle Jim’s coachman and taken to the camp of the Piketon Rangers. By that time the news of the attempt to rob the stage had spread, and caused great excitement in the town and neighborhood. Tom and Jim, finding no reference to them in the accounts, deemed it best to say nothing, since they might have found it hard to make it appear that they had acted bravely at a time when such a fine chance was offered to play the hero.
That afternoon the three fully established themselves in the tent of Bob Budd. The day had cleared up beautifully, but it was too late to start out on the great hunt they had fixed their hearts on, and toward night they separated to take a stroll through the surrounding country, with which they wished to become familiar. They believed this could be done better if they should part company, since each would be obliged to keep his senses about him, and to watch his footsteps more closely than if he had a guide in the person of Bob Budd, their friend and host.
CHAPTER XV—THE FOREST PATH
Dick Halliard was kept unusually late at Mr. Hunter’s store that evening, for the busy season was approaching, when the merchant was obliged to ask for extra work at the hands of his employees. Dick showed such aptitude at figures that he often gave valuable aid to the bookkeeper, one of the old-fashioned, plodding kind, who found the expanding accounts too much for him to keep well in hand.
Reaching his home, he was met by his mother, who always awaited his coming, no matter how late he might be. A light never failed to be shining from the window for the only son, and a warm welcome and a delicious meal were sure to greet him.
After kissing his mother and taking his seat at the table, he glanced around and asked: “Did father become tired of sitting up for me?”
“He retired some time ago; he wished to wait, but I advised him not to do so.”
The lad paused in his meal, and looking at his mother, who was trying to hide her agitation, asked:
“Why do you try to keep anything from me? Father is worse, as I can see from you face.”
“Yes,” replied the mother, the tears filling her eyes; “he is not as well to-night as usual.”
Dick shoved back his chair.
“I will go for Dr. Armstrong; it’s too bad that he could not have been called long ago.”
“I would have gone, but I feared to leave him alone, and we were expecting you every minute. You must eat something and swallow a cup of tea.”
Poor Dick’s vigorous appetite was gone, but partly to please his parent, and partly because he knew it was best, he ate and drank a little. Then he ran up-stairs to see his father, who was suffering from a fevered condition which made him slightly delirious. The brave boy spoke a few cheerful words, and then, promising to return as soon as he could, hastened down-stairs and donned his hat and coat.
“You can go quite fast on your bicycle, Dick,” said the mother, “and you know we shall count the minutes till the doctor comes.”
“You can depend on me to do my best; I will take my bicycle, though it isn’t very far.”
He had kissed her good-night, and was out-of-doors. The machine had been left just within the gate, where he always leaned it against the trunk of a short, thick cedar. He advanced to take it, as he had done so many times, but to his dismay it was gone.
The door had closed behind him before he had made the discovery, so that his mother knew nothing of his loss.
Dick was dumbfounded. Nothing of the kind had ever befallen him before. He had been in the house less than fifteen minutes, yet during that interval his property had vanished.
“Some one must have followed me,” was his conclusion, “and while I was in the house stole my bicycle.”
Had the circumstances been different, he would have set a most vigorous investigation on foot, for he prized the wheel above all his possessions; but, with his sick parent up-stairs, the minutes were too precious to be spent in looking after anything else.
“I’ll find out who took that,” he muttered, as he passed through the gate to the highway, “and when I do, he’ll have to settle with me.”
He studied the ground closely in the hope of discovering the trail, as it may be called, of his machine, but the light of the moon was too faint to show any signs, unless in the middle of the highway, and if the thief had followed that direction, he took care to keep at the side of the road, where there was a hard path over which he could readily travel.
It was three-fourths of a mile to the home of Dr. Armstrong, who was one of those hard-worked humanitarians—a country physician—subject to call at all hours of the day and night, with many of them requiring a journey of several miles during the worst seasons of the year.
Dick was fortunate in not only finding him at home, but in his office. He had received a summons to a point beyond Mr. Halliard’s, and was in the act of mounting his horse to ride thither. Since he had to pass the house of Dick on his way, he promised to go at once, so that not a minute would be lost.
The brief interview with the physician was satisfactory in the highest degree to the youth, for the medical man explained that, singular as it might seem, the fever which he described as affecting his parent was a very favorable sign. It showed that the remedies already used were doing the work intended, and there was more ground for hope of his ultimate recovery than before.
With this burden lifted from his heart, the boy’s thoughts returned to his bicycle.
“I would give a good deal to know who took it,” he murmured, as he set out on his return; “I never knew of such a thing. Why didn’t I think of it!” he suddenly asked himself, as he recalled that he had a little rubber match-safe in his pocket.
Bringing it forth, he struck one of the bits of wood, and shading the tiny flames from the slight breeze, stooped over and attentively examined the road and paths at each side.
He discovered nothing to reward his search, and resumed his walk homeward. “The thief must have taken the other road,” he concluded, walking more rapidly.
Only a little way farther he came to the big stretch of woods which surrounded the immense reservoir of water behind the dam that was built years before. Dick was familiar with the locality, and knew of a path which left the main highway and entered the woods, breaking into two routes, one of which led to the mill-pond, while the other, if followed, conducted a person to the wooded hilly region beyond.
Upon reaching the point where the path turned off from the highway, Dick again paused and struck a second match. This was for the purpose of studying the ground, for somehow or other he had formed the belief that the thief would take to the woods with the property, until he could find time to dispose of it without attracting attention.
There it was!
The ground, although quite hard, showed the imprint of the large and small wheel distinctly. Upon turning into the wood the change of direction necessarily threw the wheels out of alignment for a short distance, and there could be no mistake about the prints that were left in the earth.
“There’s where the thief went!” exclaimed the lad, straightening up and striving to peer into the impenetrable gloom; “but he must have walked and pushed the bicycle, for no one would dare to ride through there in the nighttime. I don’t go home till I find out something about the rogue that took it from the front of our house.”
It was a source of regret that, in his haste to go to the physician, he forgot the precaution he had resolved to take, whenever he found it necessary to go abroad at night. His father was the owner of a fine revolver that had lain in the house for weeks without being used. If the youth had it with him now, he would have felt double the assurance that was his when he began making his way along the forest path. Nevertheless, his resolution to recover his property was none the less because of his forgetfulness.
CHAPTER XVI—THE PLOTTERS
Dick Halliard had walked only a short distance along the lonely forest path when he made a startling discovery.
While he was stealthily following some one, an unknown party was following him. His own senses were on the alert, and the young hero caught the faint footfalls not far behind him.
“That’s more than I bargained for,” he muttered, “and now would be a good time to have my pistol; but I haven’t got it, so what’s the use of thinking about it.”
There was comfort in the thought, however, that the stranger who was at his heels was unaware of the fact. Had he wished to approach secretly, he could have stepped so softly that Dick would have heard nothing of him.
But the sensation of being between two fires, and liable to run into both, was so unpleasant that the lad stepped noiselessly from the path and screened himself among the dense shadows, until the one at the rear should pass him.
He had not long to wait when the footsteps were heard opposite, and with the help of a partial ray of moonlight, which reached the path at that point, he was able to discern the outlines of the party.
It was well that he was so familiar with the route, for, had he not been, he must have betrayed himself against the overhanging limbs and bushes, with an occasional depression in the ground, where it was necessary to step with great care.
Had Dick not known the precise point in the dark where a small stream wound its way across, he would have learned from an angry exclamation of the fellow in front, who slipped and fell forward in it. A slightly longer step than usual placed the eavesdropper on the other side, and he continued his guarded pursuit.
The next moment brought a sharp shock to Dick, who suddenly became aware that the footfalls in front had ceased. The fellow had stopped walking, and seemed to be standing still, as if listening. The first warning Dick received after he checked himself was a glimpse of his head and shoulders just in advance.
Fearful of being detected himself, Dick instantly drew back with the noiselessness of an Indian scout, and stood ready to retreat farther or dart aside, as might be necessary.
“Hulloa there!”
The call had a gruesome sound in the solemn stillness of the woods, and for a moment Dick was sure he was discovered. He made no answer, and the hail was repeated, but with no more success than before.
He was convinced that the fellow was not certain any one was behind him, but was seeking to verify a suspicion he had formed.
Failing of reply, he was quiet a moment longer, when he emitted a low whistle, like the cry of a night bird.
This, too, had to be repeated, but was more successful than in the former instance, for on the second call a reply came from a point farther on, but not far off. Only a few seconds elapsed when some one was heard approaching, and the couple quickly met in the path, not more than twenty feet from where Dick was standing.
They began talking, but at first he could not catch the words, which were uttered in low tones. He therefore stole a little nearer, and heard them distinctly.
“I suppose you have become pretty well acquainted with the country?” was the remark of Jim McGovern.
“Well, there isn’t much to get acquainted with. I went down to the village and took a look around,” replied Wagstaff. “I thought I might run against Bob, but he must have taken another route. I had a little lark on my way home.”
“What was that?”
“I was passing Dick Halliard’s home, when I caught sight of his bicycle leaning against a tree in the front yard, as if it was tired. I thought right away of what Bob told us about that machine, and saw it was the very chance we wanted. It couldn’t have been better. No one was around, and I slipped through the gate, drew the bicycle out onto the road, mounted and rode it down to the path, where, of course, I got off and pushed it in front to this place.”
“Good!” exclaimed the delighted McGovern; “that couldn’t have happened better. Won’t Bob be tickled! You are sure no one saw you bring it away?”
“I won’t forget how I learned there wasn’t any one watching me.”
“How was that?”
“After I got out in the road I looked around to make sure. Nobody was in sight, but I turned my head too far, and set the machine to wobbling so bad that before I knew it I was over on my side, and thought my leg was broken.”
“A cyclist must become used to taking headers; the wonder is that more people are not killed. Tom, I want you to do me the favor of letting me ruin that machine.”
“I don’t know that I have any objection.”
“Have you fixed on a plan?” asked McGovern.
“I haven’t had time to think. How would it do to blow it up with dynamite?”
“Too risky for the rest of us.”
“Then we can chop it into splinters and make a fire to cook our game with.”
“The trouble there,” said McGovern, who seemed to be quite cautious, “is that there is very little if any woodwork about it; it’s nearly all metal.”
“Let’s dig a hole in the ground and bury it.”
“That takes too much work; you know we’ve all sworn off labor for the rest of our lives, and we wouldn’t dare hire anybody, for that would be a dead give away.”
“I have it; we’ll run it into the mill-pond. The water is forty feet deep, and nobody would ever think of looking there for it, and it can be done with no trouble at all.”
“That’s the idea! It won’t take five minutes to put it where it will never be seen again. Where is it?”
“Right up here on the edge of the mill-pond, all ready; it’s queer I didn’t think of it myself. But since you feel as you do, why, I’m agreeable.”
The couple moved along the path, and directly behind them stole Dick Halliard. He had overheard every word that we have recorded, and he was nearly beside himself with anger.
“So you mean to run my bicycle in the mill-pond, do you?” he muttered between his set teeth; “look out if, instead of running it into the water, that you two don’t get run in yourselves!”
It was an extensive contract for the single youth to checkmate these fellows, but that was precisely what he had determined to do!
CHAPTER XVII—A BRAVE EXPLOIT
The danger with Dick Halliard was, that his anger was likely to overmaster his judgment, and lead him to attempt something that would cause his own disastrous overthrow.
The knowledge that the young man had just asked the privilege of destroying his bicycle was exasperating to a degree, but he might have reflected that, since the method chosen was by sinking it in the mill-pond, he had only to wait and watch where the submersion took place, when it could be readily recovered without injury.
“I won’t stand it,” muttered the wrathful lad, stealing after them; “if they undertake that business somebody is going to get hurt.”
It was but a short distance to the pond. Dick was walking dangerously near the couple, who were liable at any moment to turn and discover him. He saw the gleam of the water in the faint moonlight, but just before the pond was reached the path divided. While one encircled the extensive sheet of water, the other turned to the left, and led farther into the woods and among the mountainous regions beyond.
It was as this point the pair stopped for a moment and exchanged a few words. The youth who had stolen the bicycle was the first to speak.
“Jim, you’re so anxious to drown the wheel, and I’m willing, but there’s no need of waiting to see you do it.”
“What’s your hurry, Tom?”
“I’m anxious to see how Bob made out. I’ll turn off the path right here and go to camp; you’ll be along in a few minutes, and if everything is right, Bob ought to be there very soon, if he hasn’t arrived before this.”
The matter was of no moment, and, as his companion took the path leading deeper into the woods, Jim kept on in the direction of the mill-pond, where the bicycle was leaning against a tree near the edge of the water.
This little circumstance, however, encouraged the angry Dick, for he now had but one person to contend with, though the second was near at hand.
Jim, as he had been called, spent several minutes in searching for the bicycle, though he was close to it all the time. This, too, was fortunate, since Tom was walking rapidly away and was likely soon to be beyond call.
“Ah, here it is!” muttered Jim, a moment later, “I thought Tom was fooling me, but I’ll soon fix it now.”
He took hold of the wheel, and as it assumed the perpendicular, began shoving it toward the water. The path was so narrow that some difficulty was caused, and Dick heard him muttering angrily to himself again.
“I guess you had better drop that!”
Dick uttered the words in the most guttural bass he could assume, and they were startling enough in the gloomy stillness of the place.
Jim was on the very edge of the pond at the moment, balancing the bicycle, and about to shove it out into the deep water at his feet, where it would instantly drop from sight. The hiss of a serpent beneath his feet could not have given him a greater shock.
He turned so abruptly that the machine fell over on its side with the rim touching the pond, which just there was at its deepest. Seeing a figure advancing from the darkness, he recoiled a step and faced the intruder.
In his fright he stepped a few inches too far and fell backward with a loud splash.
“It would serve you right if you were half drowned,” said Dick, moving forward to pick up his wheel.
He had it erect in a twinkling, and started to push it along the path, when the terrified Jim shouted:
“Help! help! I can’t swim! I’m drowning!”
This put a new and serious face on the business. Dick let his bicycle tumble sideways again and ran to the edge of the pond to give help to the unfortunate youth.
As has been stated the water at this part of the mill-pond was deeper than anywhere else. The instant Jim went off the land, he was where a twenty-foot pole would not have reached bottom. Furthermore, he told the truth when he called that he could not swim. He was unable to sustain himself for a single stroke.
Quick as was Dick Halliard in dashing over the brief intervening space, he saw the head of the fellow disappear under the surface, the disturbed waters bubbling over him.
But he knew he would come up again, and hurriedly looked around for a pole or stick to extend to him. None was within reach and the seconds were of too momentous value to allow him a further hunt.
Knowing the endangered youth was in a panic, Dick now strove to reach him without leaving the land. Remembering where he had gone down, he essayed to step as far out from the edge as he could, in the hope that he might give him his hand.
But, familiar as he was with the big mill-pond and its surroundings, he forgot that the shore at that place went downward as sheer as the side of a stone wall.
As a consequence, the instant he bore the least weight on the extended foot, down he went with a force that carried him below the surface.
But Dick was one of the most skillful of swimmers, and though the water was chilly, he came up like a duck.
He was so prompt in doing this that he and Jim rose simultaneously, and within arm’s length of each other.
“Keep still! don’t move, and I’ll take you ashore!”
He might as well have appealed to the whirlwind. The instant he grasped the hair of the big fellow the latter turned and flung both arms about his neck, and despite all his rescuer could do the two disappeared again.
The young rescuer knew that unless the desperate lock was broken both must drown, and the coolness with which he decided on the right and only thing to do and did it, was one of the most striking exhibitions our hero ever gave, or, for that matter, that any one could have given.
While holding his breath below, the death-lock of the drowning youth was slightly relaxed, but not sufficiently for his hold to be released. Our body is slightly less in specific gravity than water, and, aided by the exertions of Dick, the two quickly rose to the surface again.
The crisis came the instant they readied fresh air. It was then the drowning Jim would strive fiercely to gather his rescuer closer to him, and nothing less than the power of Hercules could shake him off. Dick knew it and acted accordingly.
At the moment he gasped for breath he let drive with his right fist, landing directly between Jim’s eyes. It was the strongest blow Dick could deliver, and like a flash he repeated it.
It did the business. Poor Jim was in a dazed condition already. The two blows of Dick stunned him and he became a dead weight on his rescuer.
Fortunately for the latter they were close to shore, else his attempt to save the other might have resulted most seriously to himself. The larger boy was likely to recover from the stunning blow in a few seconds, and the instant he did so would become frantic again, while Dick’s strength must speedily succumb.
The cry of the drowning youth rang through the wood and reached the ears of Tom Wagstaff, who dashed back to learn what it meant. At the moment he arrived Dick had reached one hand up on the planking which ran along the edge of the pond, and, with his other arm under the shoulders of Jim, kept his head in the air, but was unable to help him further until he should recover his senses.
Dick knew who the second party was that suddenly appeared on the margin.
“He’s all right,” he said, alluding to Jim; “reach down and give him your hand; he’s coming to.”
The hand grasped by Tom was limp at first, but it suddenly gripped the other with desperate force, and putting forth all his power, Tom gave a pull which dragged out the half-drowned Jim, and stretched him on his face, where he showed signs of speedily recovering his bewildered senses.
“How did this happen?” asked the puzzled Tom, looking at Dick as he emerged from the water.
“He was about to push my bicycle that you stole into the pond, when he fell in himself; he called out that he couldn’t swim, so I jumped in after him; and now, if you have no objection, I’ll take my wheel home.”
As he spoke he advanced to where the bicycle was lying, stood it up, and moved down the path.
And as for Jim and Tom they spake never a word.
CHAPTER XVIII—AN ACT OF FORGETFULNESS
It would be supposed that common gratitude would have filled the heart of Jim McGovern after his rescue from death by the very lad whom he had sought to injure, but when he returned to the tent, changed his draggled garments, helped himself to strong spirits and began puffing a cigarette, he was angered at seeing the smile on the face of his companion.
“What’s the matter with you?” he growled.
“Nothing, only I think you and I ought to learn how to swim.”
“I don’t see any need of it,” replied Jim, who was in a savage humor.
“Then you won’t have to yell for Dick Halliard to help you out when you tumble into the mill-pond.”
“He didn’t help me out; what are you talking about?” “He said so, and you didn’t deny it.”
“It was me that helped him out,” was the unblushing response of young McGovern, growing angrier every minute; “and I’m going to get even with him.”
“Get even for what? For helping him out?”
“For lying about me; I don’t allow any chap to do that.”
“How are you going to do it, Jim?” asked Tom, glad of a chance to tantalize his companion.
“Why, how do you suppose? I’ll lay for him.”
“Ah, that reminds me!” said his companion; “I forgot it until this minute.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, when Bob started out this evening, he said he was going to do that very thing—lay for young Halliard.”
“What’s he got against him?” demanded Jim, resenting the idea that any one should rob him of his anticipated pleasure.
“You heard what he said last night; Halliard holds himself so much better than he that he feels it his duty to bring him down a peg or two; he told me that while you and I took a stroll wherever we chose, he would go down to Piketon to get some things at the store and before he came back would fix Halliard.”
“I wonder if he did it before Halliard pulled me out of the pond—I mean before I pulled him out.”
“If he did, it couldn’t have amounted to much, for he didn’t act like a chap suffering harm. No, it must be that Bob has missed him; but he’s likely to catch him on the way back. It’s so late that Bob must be coming home, and he’ll be sure to meet the young gentleman and will give him a laying-out that he will remember for years.”
Jim smoked a few minutes in silence. It is a principle of human nature that if we do another a kindness we are apt to feel more friendly disposed toward him than before, while the one receiving the favor is inclined to resent it. His gratitude may overmaster this mean emotion, but there is something in the thought of being under obligations to another which is unpleasant, and results in stirring up emotions that are no credit to us.
Jim McGovern could not forget that he was trying to injure an innocent person when that person saved him from drowning. Had he not been thus engaged, probably he might not have felt so ugly toward him. But his situation was so humiliating, considered in all aspects, that he looked upon Dick Halliard with more dislike than upon his bitterest enemy.
“Tom,” said he, rising to his feet and flinging away the remnant of a cigarette, “I aint going to stand it.”
“You are standing it this minute after sitting all the evening.”
“Stop trying to be funny; I’m going after that Halliard.”
“When—to-morrow?”
“No, to-night; right away.”
“Nonsense, it is very late; wait until to-morrow.”
“I can’t do it; I’m mad clear through; I’m off!”
He started toward the opening, but Tom sprang up and caught his arm.
“If you are bent on going take your weapons with you. There’s no telling how badly you’ll need ’em.”
“No; I don’t intend to shoot anybody, but I mean to give that fellow the biggest whipping of his life.”
“How are you going to manage it?”
“I can’t stop to explain. I’ll tell you when I come back;” and, without saying anything more, the wrathful Ranger strode toward the mill-pond, where he took the main path leading to the highway. As he saw the gleam of the water he shuddered to recall how near he came to death; but his evil nature had no room at that time for the sweet, tender emotions that should have filled him.
At the moment of leaving camp he had fixed upon no clear method of procedure, and he gave his meditations now to the best plan for punishing his preserver.
“It’s easy enough,” he added, after walking a short way; “I’ll go to the door and knock, and if it isn’t young Halliard that opens it, I’ll ask for him, saying I must see him on something important. Then, when I get him outside, I’ll jump on him. I can do him up before anybody comes to his help. If he’s the first one to show himself, it’ll be all the better.”
Bob had pointed out the modest little home of Dick Halliard that day, while the three Piketon Rangers were returning from their call at their leader’s house. Consequently McGovern had no trouble in finding the place. He was surprised to observe the twinkle of a light from an upper window, which he accepted as proof that Dick was in the act of retiring.
I wonder whether, if he had known it was the light burning in the sick chamber of his preserver’s parent, it would have restrained him from pushing on with his scheme of revenge. I fear not.
Standing in front of the gate the Ranger spent several minutes in making what might be called a reconnoissance.
So far as he could discover everything was silent and no one was astir. It was the only house in sight, and the lamp, showing through the curtain, was the solitary sign of wakefulness in Dick Halliard’s home. No shadows passed in front of the light, and he wondered why it was that all was so strangely quiet.
But the impressiveness of the hour did not deter the evil youth from carrying out his purpose. He softly opened the gate and moved as stealthily as a burglar along the short path leading to the front door.
Here he paused a few seconds to make sure his plan would work perfectly.
“When he shows himself, I’ll step back and ask him to come outside, as I don’t want any one to hear me. I’ll get him to shut the door and leave the porch; then when I’ve got him where I want him, I’ll let him have a half-dozen right and left-handers, and run as hard I can down the road. Nobody round here knows me and he won’t get a good look at my face. If he does and makes a kick over it, I’ll prove an alibi.”
Nothing seemed amiss, and the expectant McGovern reached up his hand to sound the old-fashioned knocker.
“More than likely it will be young Halliard himself that will come to the door—gracious! I never thought of that!”
At that moment Bowser, the big bull-dog belonging to Dick Halliard, having heard a slight noise in front, came trotting around the corner of the house to see whether there were any tramps for him to devour.
Had Jim kept his place he would not have been molested, for Bowser was too well trained to harm any one calling in the right way, and whose appearance was not against him. But the instant the youth caught sight of the ferocious canine, he did the very worst thing possible—he started to run.
Bowser accepted this as proof that he was there on wrong business, and he dashed after him like a runaway engine. Before Jim could open and pass through the gate, the dog was nipping at the calves of his legs with a vigor that compelled the terrified youth to yell at the top of his voice.
Dick Halliard heard the shout, and, springing from his bed, threw up the window and called to the animal to forbear. Bowser disliked to obey, for he was just getting fairly at work; but he came trotting back with his head down and a reproachful glance at his young master, for having interfered at such an unlucky time for him.
Inasmuch as it is impossible to do justice to Jim McGovern’s feelings, while making his way back to the tent in the woods, we will not attempt to do so. Silence is the more eloquent under such circumstances.
CHAPTER XIX—AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT
Had Jim McGovern taken another course when starting out on the war-path, he would not have met such overwhelming disaster, for he would have encountered Bob Budd returning from an experience hardly less stirring than his own; but the two followed different routes and did not see each other until they met in camp, after both had been through their experience and the night was well advanced.
Reaching the highway, Dick mounted his bicycle and continued his journey homeward at an easy pace. There was a faint moon in the sky, and now and then the wind blew fitfully among the tree branches, but he was in good spirits. The words of the physician concerning his father encouraged him greatly, and he was happy over the unexpected manner in which he had recovered his bicycle. Mr. Hunter had notified him that day, that, on the first of the following month, his wages would be increased, and that so long as he showed the same devotion to his interests, he might count upon a yearly repetition of the favor.
“I’m luckier than I deserve,” he reflected, as he skimmed over the highway, “for I was able to attend school until I graduated, and Mr. Hunter, who was one of the trustees, told me that afternoon that he had had his eye on me for several years and wanted me. Well, I have tried to do as father and mother taught me when I was a little fellow, and I’ve no doubt that that’s the reason for it all. I can’t understand how any one can show the meanness of Bob Budd and those boys he has with him. There was no earthly excuse for stealing my bicycle—Hello! there’s some one in the road yonder.”
He was approaching a clump of trees where the shadows were so thick that he could not see distinctly, but he was certain he observed a figure step back as if to avoid being noticed.
Dick gently applied the brake to his wheel and hesitated whether to go on or not. He recalled that he had heard rumors of robbery and attempts at burglary in the neighborhood within the past week. Indeed, there were signs discovered that very morning that proved an effort had been made to pry open one of the shutters of Mr. Hunter’s store; but the marauders were scared off by the dog that was kept on duty every night.
Suppose one of these criminals had located himself alongside the road for the purpose of robbing passers-by!
“He wouldn’t get much from me” reflected Dick, who had less than a single dollar in change with him, “but, all the same, I don’t fancy being stopped by him. He might shoot me because of his disappointment. Maybe he thinks I am like some other clerks, who make a practice of robbing their employers.”
By this time the bicycle was hardly moving, the headway being just sufficient to enable him to keep his poise. He peered intently forward, ready to turn and speed down the road on the first sign of danger; but if a person was skulking among the trees, he took good care to keep out of sight, and whether or not Dick was mistaken could be learned only by going forward.
He was thinking fast. If he wished to reach home, where his parents were expecting him, this was the only road, unless he went back to town and made a circuit of eight or ten miles, a proceeding not to be thought of when he was already within a half-mile of his own door.
True, he might adopt another method. He could return until beyond sight of the rogue, whoever he was, leave his bicycle at the roadside, and then cut across lots on foot.
But Dick was a plucky youth, and could not bear the thought of fleeing from danger whose nature he did not understand.
“No, I’ll go ahead,” he muttered, compressing his lips, as he removed the brake and began gradually increasing his speed. “If he stops me, why, there’ll be a fight, that’s all!”
His plan was to “put on all steam” and dash through the gloomy space, which was only a few rods in extent. By doing so he counted upon surprising any enemy that might be lurking there and getting beyond his reach before he could interpose.
There was but one difficulty in the way. He had already approached so near the clump of trees that he could not well obtain the necessary speed. But he could try, and try he did.
The muscular legs bore down hard on the pedals, and the big wheel began increasing its swift revolutions, but the pace was hardly one-half what it would have been had he possessed a few more rods in which to set things humming.
Dick Halliard had good cause for his misgivings. There was an individual among the shadow of the trees, waiting, like a spider, for a victim to come within his net.
At the moment of gliding into the shadow the youth saw him. He was standing in the middle of the road, directly in his path.
“Out of the way, or I’ll run you down!” shouted Dick, aiming apparently at him, but making a sharp turn to the left.
“Try it, if you dare!” called the stranger in a gruff voice.
“What do you want?” demanded Dick, bending all his efforts to the task of flanking the fellow.
“I want you!” was the startling reply; “get down off of that wheel before I fetch you down!”
Whoever the fellow was he kept in Dick’s path so persistently, that despite all he could do he could not prevent a collision. The bicycle fell with a resounding bang on its side, and the rider was compelled to make a dexterous leap to save himself from going down with it.
One of the most noticeable traits about the sinewy Dick was his quickness of resource and presence of mind. While he suspected the identity of the party who had thus stopped him, he was in doubt until the last words were spoken. Then the young man in his excitement forgot to disguise his tones. It was Bob Budd, who had taken this occasion to carry out the threat he had made so often in the presence of others.
Dick could not believe the bully meant to use any weapon, but intended simply to chastise him. He meant to give the boy an unmerciful beating.
It was this certainty that inspired Dick to assail him with all the energy at his command.
The instant he was freed from his wheel, and, without uttering the first word of warning, Dick let fly with both fists, in such sharp and quick succession that the dazed bully went over on his back, as if smitten by the hoof of a mule.
“I know you, Bob Budd!” said the younger youth, whose anger was at a high point, “and you have been threatening me a long time; now we’ll settle the business for good.”
“I aint Bob Budd, either,” replied that worthy, climbing to his feet. Then seeing the absurdity of the situation, he added, desperately:
“Yes, I am Bob Budd, and I have a big account to square with you.”
“This is the time,” said Dick, who, impatient at his slowness, started to assail him the moment he got on his feet.
“Hold on,” protested Bob, “can’t you wait till a fellow is up? Why don’t you fight fair?”
“I’m holding on,” returned Dick, edging round into the moonlight where he could observe every movement of his antagonist; “but I’m tired of waiting for you.”
“I’m coming; you needn’t worry.”
But the vigorous reception of the younger lad had taught the bully to be careful. While he was as confident as the other Piketon Ranger of his ability to “do him up,” he saw the need of going about it carefully. He threw out his arms in the most approved style, and, as Dick slowly retreated a few steps, followed under the belief that he was becoming timid and that the blows struck a moment before were of a chance nature.
But the younger now had the elder in the moonlight, where he could see every movement distinctly. He bounded at Bob again with such fierce quickness that the big fellow was once more prostrate ere he could strike or parry a blow.
“I guess that’s enough,” said Dick, “but if you are not satisfied I’ll wait.”
“I’m not through with you yet,” replied Bob, who was now in a white heat of anger; so much so indeed that he hastily drew the loaded revolver that he carried at all times. He had lost his self-command and was determined to punish Dick Halliard, who had turned the tables upon him with such vengeance.