“That’s all right—the dogs are mine.”
“Good enough,” murmured Jack. “Now we’ll get some help, I hope.”
The man came nearer. He was dressed in a riding-suit and carried a short whip in one hand. As he came closer the bulldogs ran towards him in a friendly way.
“Say, do you know who he is?” asked Jack, suddenly.
“Who?” asked the others.
“Haverick, the horse-dealer—the man who owned the dog I shot while we were at target practice.”
CHAPTER XXIX
THE OLD WELL
The announcement the young major made was true—the man who had come up was really Sam Haverick, the horse-dealer, a fellow known far and wide around the lake for his sharp deals in horseflesh.
As soon as he caught sight of the cadets’ uniforms his face took on a sour look.
“Are you youngsters from Putnam Hall?” he asked, as he came to a halt under the tree.