The two pursuers slowed up, but did not come to a halt.
“Do you think he’s got a pistol?” asked Leo.
“No; if he has he won’t dare to use it. Arm yourself with a stick or stone,” were Carl’s words.
As he spoke he picked up a stick lying near, and Leo followed his example. In another moment they were within ten feet of Jack Darrow, who had started to run once more.
“Stop!” cried Carl. “Stop, or I’ll fire!”
“You ain’t got no pistol!” roared Darrow.
“No; but I’ve got this!” was the retort. The stick whirled through the air, launched with the young juggler’s aim, and struck the thief in the back between the shoulders. It was a heavy blow, and Darrow fell flat on his face.
Before he could get up Carl and Leo were on top of him. In vain he tried to fight them off. Carl held him fast while the young gymnast produced a stout cord and tied his hands behind him.
The two heroes of the occasion had scarcely finished their work when carriage wheels were heard approaching, and Mr. Cook and his turnout hove into sight.
“Hullo! you’ve got him!” cried out the tavern-keeper. “That’s a good job done. What are you going to do with him?”