At the expiration of ten minutes he was forced to halt in order to regain his breath, and while standing panting and blowing behind a tree he listened for some token of the enemy.
Not a sound, save those made by himself, broke the silence of the forest, and there was every reason to believe he had for the second time given the fellows the slip.
But what about Harvey?
In fancy he saw him lying dead or dying within the shelter of the bushes, while the gang were making a desperate attack upon the house, and this thought nerved him to continue the flight before he had fairly recovered his wind.
The journey was a succession of brief halts and mad races, for every moment might be precious now, and he took no heed of fatigue, save when exhausted nature literally forced him so to do.
In less than half the time it had cost him to traverse the same distance when no one but himself was in danger, he accomplished the task, and stood on the platform of the station at which Harvey's party stopped the night previous.
The building was closed.
While he was rattling at the door in the vain hope that there might be a watchman inside, a resident of the town passed.
"What's going on?" he asked in an unsteady voice which told quite plainly why he was away from home at such an hour.
"I want to send a very important telegram."