I put on all steam and tried to square myself, but Bunch only shook his head and said I was outlawed.
"You can't run on my race track," he exclaimed as he started for the depot; "that last race was crooked and you stood in with the dope mixer."
I watched him down the hill until he disappeared in the station, then, sad at heart, I trudged back to the old homestead that had caused all my trouble.
It was now broad daylight, but nowhere within my line of vision could I get a peep of the doughty Diggs.
No doubt he was still cutting across lots trying to head off the "maleyfactor."
CHAPTER V.
JOHN HENRY'S TELEGRAM.
When I reached the cottage I found all the members of my household dressed for the day, and lined up on the piazza, eager for news from the battlefield.
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Uncle Peter, "the boy is bareheaded! Where's your hat, John?"
"Mercy! I hope you're not scalped!" Aunt Martha cried, sympathetically.