But David Brewster was wholly unaware that he was being followed. He hurried from one field to another until he came to a meadow that had been left uncultivated for a number of years. It was uneven, running into little hills and valleys, with big rocks jutting out of the earth. One of these rocks formed a complete screen. David walked straight toward this spot as though he were accustomed to going to it. He lay down on the grass under the rock. On his way to his retreat he had made up his mind how he should try to return the stolen goods to the rightful owners, so there was nothing to keep him from his regular occupation. David pulled out of his pocket one of the small, flat objects that he carried and almost completely concealed it with his body as he leaned over it.
A few minutes later Harry Sears crept up on tip-toe from the back of the rock. Jack Bolling was considerably farther off. He meant to give David some warning of his presence before he approached him.
Harry Sears lay down flat on top of the rock. He made a sudden dive toward David, grabbing at the object that David held in his hand.
"What have you there?" he demanded. "Out with it! You've got to tell what you do every afternoon, hiding off by yourself."
David Brewster sprang to his feet, his face white with passion. He thrust the object that Harry coveted back into his pocket.
"Get up from there!" he shouted hoarsely. "What do you mean by spying on me like this? What business is it of yours how I spend my time? I am answerable to Tom Curtis, not to you. Here is your friend, Mr. Bolling, sneaking behind you on the same errand; and I suppose you both think you are gentlemen," he sneered.
"Oh, come, Brewster," interrupted Jack Bolling apologetically, "I suppose Harry and I were overdoing things a bit to come over here after you. But there is no use getting so all-fired angry. If you are not up to mischief, why do you care if we do happen to come up with you?"
"Because I care to keep my own business to myself," answered David.
"Look here, you fellow, don't be impertinent," broke in Harry Sears coolly, as though David had scarcely the right to speak to him.
David felt a blind, hot rage sweep over him. The boy was no longer master of himself. Some day, when he learned to control this white heat of passion, it was to make him a great power for good in the world. Now his rage was the master.