The gig was rapidly outdistancing Ben. As it rounded a corner out of sight, the lad was wrought up to an intense pitch of desperation.
Then a wild impulse sent him to the curb where a horse attached to a light buggy was standing. Ben made a reckless decision and acted promptly on its suggestions.
The horse was not hitched. Ben reached the buggy seat in a spring and seized lines and whip with a vigorous:
“Get up!”
A yell of startled dismay rang out behind him. Ben fancied that it came from the owner of the horse, probably observing the theft of his rig as he came out from some store where he had been trading. Ben never looked back. He paid no attention to other shouts at the rear.
“There he goes,” said Ben, as he turned the corner. The gig was two squares in advance. It turned into a new street, and our hero followed. There were other turns, and finally the gig was halted in front of a store. Its driver drew up to the curb, sprang out of the gig and disappeared inside the establishment.
Ben drove slowly past the place. He observed that it was a store given over to the sale of second-hand tools. Its windows were so smoked, and grimed, and choked up with so much miscellaneous plunder, that he could not see the inside of the place.
“I’ve housed my man,” uttered Ben with satisfaction. “He may not live here, but he certainly is known here. That is enough for the present. Now to return this rig.”
It suddenly occurred to Ben that he had acted on a decidedly reckless impulse. He realized that it might lead to serious results. He somewhat anxiously urged up the horse.
“I must get back to the place I started from and make an explanation,” he decided.