“Stop it!” cried Bob, when he had retreated a hundred feet or more. “Stop it, or you will be sorry.”
“So yer afraid, are you?” snarled Carrow.
He made another lunge, and had not Bob jumped to one side, the tines would have entered his body. The youth watched his chance, and doubled on the farmer. The wagon was a good bit up the road, and, running to it, he jumped in.
“Hi! Stop there!” cried Carrow, in alarm.
“Good-by, old freckles!” returned Bob.
He turned the horse’s head, and before the farmer could reach him started off at a lively gait, leaving Carrow standing in the middle of the road, shaking his fist in impotent rage.
Bob fully understood the horse he was driving, and he made good time to Dalmer’s place.
Jumping off here, he tied the reins to the dash-board and started the horse off, feeling certain that the animal would go straight home.
Entering the house, he found Frank Landes sitting up in an easy-chair.
“Hullo, Bob! so you’ve come back! Mr. Dalmer thought you had followed those rascals to Stampton, or some other place.”