As he struck the match and prepared to apply the flame to the letter the head of a ragged, freckled-faced lad of fourteen rose and peered down over the edge of the lumber-pile. The boy was lying flat on his stomach on top of the timber, where he had listened to all that passed between Scudder and the fellow from Hudsonville.
The eyes of the boy glistened and seemed to be measuring the distance from the pile of lumber to the spot where the worthy pair were standing. With a look of longing he gazed at that letter, while his fingers worked nervously.
"Confound it!" exclaimed Scudder, as a gust of wind blew out the match.
He struck another, and just then a rough-looking man appeared in the yard, saw the two young boys, and instantly cried:
"Here, there! what are you fellows doing? You have no business smoking or lighting matches in this yard. Get out of here, or I’ll have you both arrested!"
While the attention of Scudder and Glennon was turned toward the man, the boy rose softly, slipped over the edge of the pile of lumber, dropped like a cat to the ground, and darted forward.
In a twinkling he had snatched the letter from Scudder’s hand and was off as fast as he could run. Uric uttered an exclamation of astonishment and dismay.
"Here! here!" he shouted. "Stop, you young rascal!"
"Stop me!" invited the boy.
"I’ll stop you!" snarled Uric, as he started after the lad. "Come on, Glennon! I’ll give you five dollars to help me catch that brat!"