"I'll put a hot pebble in that fellow's bonnet, whoever he is!" Tom muttered vengefully. Entering the house, he left at the rear, then made a stealthy, roundabout trip that brought him at the farther edge of the litte grove of trees.
Now the young engineer crouched close to the ground as he listened. Once more he heard that some one moving, not many yards away. It was pitch-black in there amid the trees. Guided by his ears, Tom moved closer and closer without making a betraying sound. Suddenly he found the tall figure looming up almost in his path.
"Now, I've got you!" cried Tom exultantly, making a bound that should have carried his hands to the throat of the prowler.
But the other, like a flash, went on the defensive. Tom felt himself parried, then clutched at. The next instant the prowler had the young engineer in a tackle that carried Tom Reade back to the good old high school days at home. The young engineer was dumped on the ground as though he had been a sack of flour.
"Great Scott!" quivered Tom Reade. "No one but Dick Prescott ever had that tackle down fine!"
"Well, you blithering idiot!" came the indignant answer. "That's who I am—-Prescott!"
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ARMY "ON THE JOB"
"You, Dick?" gasped Tom, stumbling ruefully to his feet. Then he leaped at his late foe, throwing his arms around him. The two fairly hugged each other, Yes; here was Dick Prescott, not so many weeks a graduate of the Military Academy at West Point, and now, if you please, Second Lieutenant Richard Prescott, United States Army!
"Well, of all the strange things that the Illinois Central Railroad brings into Alabama!" grunted Tom, now gripping Dick by the hand and holding on as though he never meant to let go.