"Mr. Hobson," said Grace, without a tremor in her voice, "if you do not mount your horse and ride away before I count ten I shall kill you. One, two—"
But Tom did not wait for her to finish; he sprang on his horse and dashed away cursing.
About an hour later, as Mark was returning home, there came the report of a rifle from a hillside and a ball tore away the crown of his hat. All he could see was a little cloud of smoke on the mountain. Putting spurs to his horse he was soon out of danger.
When he reached the house he found Mr. Chittenden in a towering passion. He had just returned, and Grace was telling him of her encounter with Big Tom.
"The wretch is too vile to live," he swore. "I will hunt him to earth, if it takes me a year."
"I am with you," said Mark, showing his hat. "I got that only a few moments ago, so you see I have an account to settle with him, too."
"Why should he shoot at you?" asked Mr. Chittenden, in astonishment.
"You must ask him," answered Mark, carelessly, but as he said it he glanced at Grace. Her face was crimson, and then grew very pale. Had Big Tom told the truth? Had Mark been talking about her to him?
That night it was agreed that the next day a posse should be organized and Big Tom run down, but when morning came it was found Big Tom and his gang had fled during the night.