“Stand back!” ordered the young gymnast. “You have no right to attack my friend.”
“I’ll show ye!” yelled Jack Darrow, and leaped upon Carl.
The young magician was on guard, and in a twinkle he put out his foot and sent the fellow on his back.
“Now leave me alone or I’ll shoot you,” he said sternly, and walked away. Leo threw the whip over a fence and followed.
Darrow got up and stood still. He shook his fist after them, then disappeared in search of his whip.
The next village was four miles distant, and when they reached the place, Carl, who had lamed his foot on a stone, was glad enough to sit down. He entered a tavern and took a seat by a corner table.
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” said Leo. “I want to see what the prospects are here.”
“All right, I’ll wait,” replied the young magician, and taking up a paper that lay handy he glanced it over.
Presently a man came in and dropped in a chair opposite to him. Carl glanced over the paper and saw it was Nathan Wampole.