CHAPTER XXV.
THE VALUE OF A BOAT.
Meanwhile John was plodding along at a moderate pace. He had no idea of the danger that menaced him. He was now ten or eleven miles away from Jackson, and this gave him a feeling of security; not that the distance was so great, but that, of the many directions in which he might have gone, he saw no reason to think that Mr. Huxter would be likely to guess the right one.
On the whole, John felt in very good spirits. It was a bright, pleasant morning in September, with a clear, bracing air, that lent vigor to his steps. He decided to stop in Redport until after dinner, and then inquire his way more particularly. He determined to take the stage or cars, if he found any that ran across to Wilton. The expense would not be any greater, probably, than the cost of the meal and lodging for which, if he walked, he would be obliged to pay at the country inns.
He had got to the bottom of a hill when he heard the clattering of wheels behind him, and was startled by the sound of a voice only too familiar. "Stop, you rascal!"
John looked round, and his heart made a sudden bound when he recognized the well-known face of Mr. Huxter projecting out of a chaise, which was tearing down the hill at furious speed.
"So I've caught you, have I?" exclaimed his pursuer, in exultation. "I've got an account to settle with you, you young scamp!"