An hour later, Dick came out of McDonald's cottage. "Well, we've got everything straight now," he said, "and you'll be there tomorrow. Hopevale Oval, ten o'clock sharp."
McDonald nodded. "I'll be there," he answered, "and remember my words, Dick; you're going to win. Good night, and good luck."
He watched Randall's form vanish in the darkness; then turned his face toward the wood. "Oh, Joe," he called, "supper's ready," and then again, more loudly, "Oh, Joe," but no answer came back to him, and with a puzzled look on his face, he reëntered the cottage.
Dick walked leisurely along through the gloom of the summer night. He felt happy, knowing that he was in the very pink of condition, and now that his chance to do something for the school had really come, he was determined to meet the crisis as gamely and as resolutely as his classmates on the crew had done. Far away, in the distance, the lights of the school shone out across the fields. He gave a sigh of anticipation, feeling alive in every nerve and muscle; fit to do battle for his very life.
Half-way home, he entered the patch of woods which bordered the road, for some little distance, on either hand. And then suddenly he gave a start of surprise, for midway through the thicket, a dark figure loomed up ahead of him, advancing through the gloom. In spite of himself, Dick felt a thrill of uneasiness, but the stranger hailed him cordially enough. "Beg pardon," he said, "but have you a match about you? My pipe's gone out."
Dick moved to one side, to let the man pass, his muscles on the alert to make a dash for liberty, if the need should come. "Sorry," he answered, "I don't carry 'em--"
He got no further. Suddenly, even as he became conscious that the man was still advancing, a brawny arm was thrown about his neck from behind; his head was jerked violently backward; he choked and gasped for breath; and then, before he could struggle or utter a cry, he was gagged, bound, and lying helpless as a log, was borne swiftly away down the road.
The following morning, at seven o'clock, Mr. Fenton heard a hurried knock at his study door. "Come in," he called, and Harry Allen hastily entered, his face pale. "Mr. Fenton," he said, "here's trouble. I just went into Dick Randall's room, and he's not there. His bed hasn't been slept in. What do you suppose can have happened to him?"
Mr. Fenton looked at him in surprise. "I can't imagine, Harry," he replied. "He told me, yesterday, he would take supper with McDonald, and come home shortly afterward. He might have stayed there overnight, I suppose. Still, that's not like Randall. He would have telephoned me from the village, I think. It seems curious, doesn't it? I'll send to McDonald's at once, and we'll see. Will you ask Peter to slip the mare into the buggy, please; and you go with him, Harry, and show him the way? I don't doubt you'll find Dick there."
It was an hour later when Allen reëntered the room, the lack of good news showing in his face. "He wasn't there," he cried, "and what's stranger still, McDonald wasn't there either, or the boy. What can it mean, Mr. Fenton? You don't suppose McDonald--"