"What's the matter?" demanded the new arrival, surveying the scene before him in astonishment.
"He's gone off with my gold," exclaimed Paul Nichols, recovering from his stupefaction. "Run after him, catch him!"
"Who is it?"
"Ben Haley."
"What, your nephew! I thought he was dead long ago."
"I wish he had been," said Paul, wringing his hands. "He's taken all my money—I shall die in the poorhouse."
"I can't understand how it all happened," said the neighbor, looking to Robert for an explanation. "Who fired the gun?"
"I did," said our hero.
"Did you hit him?"
"I think so. I saw blood on his shirt. I must have hit him in the shoulder."