The young inventor pushed forward and the hired man came after him, but at what he considered a safe distance in the rear. Soon Jack was running up the shore at a point where there was a wide open field, which Pooler had once used for growing wheat.
As the young machinist came out on the edge of the field he saw a dark form just leaving the open space at the opposite side. The form was that of Mosey.
"Stop, Mosey!" he cried, loudly. "Stop, it will be best for you!"
The cry from Jack alarmed Andy Mosey more than ever, and he tried to run with increased speed. But his first burst had been almost too much for him, and he was panting loudly for breath.
"Sure an' Oi can't make it afther all," he panted. "Bad cess to Jack Willington fer followin' me! Oi wisht Oi had me pistol. Oi'd soon be afther sthopin' his game!"
But Mosey had nothing more than a sharp stone, which he had picked up in the field, and at present he saw no way of using this, for Jack was too far off.
Feeling that he could not run much further, he looked around for some place where he might hide. A gnarled tree with low-spreading branches was not far away and to this he went and began to climb the trunk with all possible speed. Soon he was some distance from the ground and then he stretched himself on a limb and remained quiet.
Crossing the field at his best speed, Jack darted in among the trees and peered around sharply. Of course he could see nothing of Mosey, and he moved on for a distance of a hundred feet or more. Then he came back and stood directly under the tree in which the Irishman was hiding. In the meantime the farmer's hired man came to a halt in the middle of the field, ready to run at the first sign of danger.
"Mosey!" called Jack. "Mosey, you might as well give yourself up. You are bound to be caught sooner or later."
He listened, but no reply came back. Then Jack walked around the tree.