With a thrill of delight he extinguished the flickering flame in the lantern and pushed his way through the bush, taking care to replace the disturbed branches.
Then he lit his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets, sauntered on, preoccupied, and was somewhat startled by a footstep and a sudden sensation of some one's hands at his throat.
Before he could realize the situation he was on his back.
With an exclamation deep and low, he threw up his arms and struggled with his assailant.
In a moment he had regained his feet and there the advantage was lost again, for the assailant pinned him to the wall of the house, and, in a stern voice, inquired:
"Who are you, fellow?"
"What!" exclaimed the captain, as the familiar tones smote his ear, "what! Leicester Dodson!"
"Captain Howard Murpoint!" exclaimed Leicester, for it was he, dropping his grasp from the captain's arm and staring in the dim light.
The captain shook himself and glared with an evil hatred at the stalwart figure.
"You are late, Mr. Dodson, and pugilistic."