Meantime Philip was wandering about the edge of the woods, with a ramrod in his hand, looking for an apple-tree.

As there could be no such trees in the woods except those that had been planted around the house,—which had disappeared so long ago that even the clearing in which it had stood had grown up,—it is not to be supposed that Phil’s search could be crowned with much success; but still he kept on, peering about the trees and bushes until he had wandered some distance from the junction of the roads.

It was at this time that Emile Touron, driving northward in the grocer’s buggy, had nearly reached the point which Phil had appointed for the meeting of Chap and himself.

Seeing a horse grazing by the roadside, Emile drew up, and then stopped. Looking at the horse intently, he recognized him as Jouncer, of whom he had made several careful studies during his visit to Hyson Hall.

Apprehension of danger immediately seized him. If that horse were here, the boys could not be far off.

He turned his buggy in the road, the wheels making but little noise in the soft dust, and was about to drive back again, when he caught sight of Phil’s gun leaning against a tree. Farther up the road he saw Phil—some two or three hundred feet away, with his back towards him.

Drawing up the horse, Emile threw the reins around the dashboard, stepped lightly from the buggy, and stealthily approaching the tree, he seized the gun. Raising the hammers, he saw that the gun was capped, and ready to fire.

Now he felt like another person. Seeing neither Chap nor his horse, he quickly concluded that that individual had gone away somewhere, and that Phil was waiting for him. He had been afraid to meet his armed enemies, but now the tables were turned. All his rage and vindictiveness boiled up afresh, and, going out into the road, with the gun in his hand, he gave a yell.

Phil instantly turned, and stood astounded.

“Ha! ha!” cried Emile. “Now I have you! I can shoot you like one dog, if I choose. Now, you beg my pardon for what you haf done, or I will blow your head off!”

Whether Phil heard these words or not it is impossible to say, but certain it is that he did not heed them. Brandishing his ramrod, he rushed towards Emile. He felt sure that the latter was merely trying to frighten him, and he did not intend to be frightened. He did intend, however, to take that gun from him.

But he did not know the French boy’s nature. Surprised at Phil’s temerity, Emile again shouted to him, saying that if he did not stop he would certainly fire, at the same time cocking both barrels, and raising the gun to his shoulder. His threat was not an idle one. Phil approached so furiously, brandishing his ramrod, that Emile would not have dared to let him come near him. He was much less afraid of the consequences, if he fired, than of Phil’s attacking him, and being assisted in a moment, perhaps, by Chap. He had found out before that Phil, though a smaller boy than himself, was a tough fellow to handle. And now he carried a weapon of some kind. He quickly made up his mind to warn Phil again, and then, if he did not stop, to fire. Angry as he was, he did not wish to kill the boy, and determined to fire at his legs. He did not think of the legal consequences of such an act, nor that the report of his gun would probably make his horse run away. There was nothing in his mind but mingled rage and fear.

“Stop!” he cried; but Phil did not stop.

It may be supposed that no boy would have the courage to run forward thus in the face of a loaded gun, but Phil had not the slightest idea that Emile would dare to fire.

Hurriedly aiming the gun below Phil’s body, Emile pulled one trigger. As he did so, the thought flashed through Emile’s mind that if he did not hit the young rascal at first, this would show him that he was in earnest. As the hammer came down, the cap exploded with a loud snap, but the gun did not go off.

Phil stopped short and turned pale. Was the fellow really going to kill him? In another instant he would have turned and fled to the shelter of the woods, but Emile, frightened at his failure, and reckless of what he was doing, aimed the gun at Phil’s head, and pulled the other trigger. Again there was a snap, but no report.

The color rushed back into Phil’s face at this second mis-fire. The gun was harmless now, and again he dashed at Emile, but the latter instantly turned and ran for his buggy, carrying the gun. He did not drop it, because he was afraid that Phil would use it against him.

Phil was after him in hot haste, but Emile reached the buggy first, and springing in, shouted to the horse. The animal was already getting restive, having his head turned homeward, and immediately started away.

Phil got near enough to the buggy to make a grasp at the hinder part of it, but Emile had seized the reins and whip, and at this instant giving the horse a cut, the animal sprang away, and the buggy was soon out of Phil’s reach and whirling rapidly towards town.

Phil stopped, and ran to Jouncer, hurriedly unhobbling him, determined to ride after that young rascal and denounce him to the authorities of the town. He forgot all about Chap. His only thought was to go after Emile.

But Chap had not forgotten himself. He had waited a good while at the upper junction, and at last had made up his mind that Phil must have been detained at some house below, and that he would ride down and meet him. It was of course impossible that he should have passed the junction. So it happened that just as Phil was about to start, Chap came galloping along on Kit.

As quickly and clearly as possible under the circumstances, Phil told his friend what had happened, and the two started off on a gallop down the road.

Chap was very angry, and deeply deplored the fact that he had not arrived a few minutes sooner. Nothing but a State’s prison would stop this French boy’s atrocities. And now he had actually stolen a gun! This was enough, even if nothing else could be proved. They could certainly shut him up now. Phil had about the same ideas, but he did not say so much.

Jouncer was a horse of great endurance, and was well fed every day, and he galloped bravely; but Kit had been out to pasture for a month or more, and doing no work had had no grain, and this swift pace, added to the previous travel of the day, soon began to tell upon him, and he weakened visibly.

“Chap,” cried Phil, “we will have to hold up! Kit can’t stand it. We shall kill him if we keep on.”

They stopped, and it was evident that what Phil said was true. Kit was puffing and heaving at a terrible rate. The boys were now at least seven or eight miles from Hyson Hall, and it was plain that Kit could not get there that night.

Chap proposed that Phil should ride on after Emile while he went to the nearest house and stayed all night with the horse, but Phil was not willing to do this.

He felt that he ought to see for himself that Kit found comfortable quarters, and he was not certain that Jouncer ought to be galloped for the five miles that lay between them and the town, and gallop he certainly must to overtake that French boy, who would have no pity for his horse.

So the two companions went slowly onward, leading Kit, until they came to a house where Phil had stopped earlier in the day, and where the people agreed to keep the boys and the horses for the night.

“I should feel worried about things at home,” said Phil, “if I didn’t know that Joel will be back before dark, and that Susan will make him and his mother come up to the house to sleep. They did that once before, when uncle and I were away for a night.”

Emile certainly had no mercy on the horse he drove. He had looked back when he reached the top of a rise in the road, and had seen the boys riding after him, and he believed they were still in pursuit.

He was afraid to throw away the gun for fear they would pick it up, and if they got it he felt sure they would shoot him. He knew they must have ammunition with them, for he had seen the powder-horn and shot-flask tied to Jouncer’s saddle.

When he neared the town he felt almost sure he had distanced them, and he slackened his pace, but he found no opportunity of getting rid of the gun. Here and there he met people returning from their work, and although dusk was coming on, it was by no means dark enough for him to throw away a gun without attracting observation.

But he felt he must get rid of it. No one must see it in his possession. If he could hide it until after dark he would throw it into the river.

When he entered the town, he drove up a side street to his tavern, and stopped before he reached the corner of the main street on which the house fronted. There was a back door open, and no one was to be seen in this part of the premises. With the gun in his hand, Emile slipped quietly into the house and ran up-stairs to his room without meeting any one. There he laid Old Bruden between the two mattresses of his bed, and came down-stairs again. Jumping into the buggy he drove round to the grocer’s, delivered up the horse and buggy, and paid for their hire.

Then he walked into the tavern and made inquiries about supper. While waiting for this meal his mind became greatly troubled. Those boys would certainly be along directly, and they might have him arrested. The house was now lighted up, and people were going about. He was afraid he would have no chance very soon to get that gun out of the house.

Then a thought struck him. Perhaps the gun was not loaded after all, and in that case he could assert that he was only trying to frighten Phil. He ran up-stairs, locked the door, and took the gun from the bed. There was no ramrod in it, but Emile had a long thin switch which he had cut for a walking-stick, and with this he measured the outside of the barrels and then the inside. The gun was certainly loaded, and he had no means of getting the loads out.

With a sickening feeling of fear he put Old Bruden back between the mattresses, smoothed the bedclothes, and went down-stairs. Then he walked over to the railroad station and asked when the next train would start for New York.

The ticket agent told him that the only train for New York that evening was due in a few minutes; in fact, it was coming then.

Emile hesitated but a minute, and then he bought a ticket, and when the train arrived he stepped on board. He had had nothing to eat since breakfast, but he would buy something on the road. As for his baggage he would telegraph for that, or he would abandon it altogether.

His fear had now gained such power over him that he was impatient and restless because the train did not start the moment he entered it. The two minutes’ stop seemed like a quarter of an hour to him. But at last it moved away.

He did not go to New York that night, but stopped at a large town, got his supper and slept there, and then early in the morning he went on. This course would be wise, he thought, in case they should telegraph after him.