Looking closer he saw that the note was directed to him. Beginning to suspect that something was wrong, he opened it.
This was what the note contained:
Mr. Bickford—I leave you a dollar to pay for my food and lodging. I do not care to become a blacksmith. Good by.
Kit Watson.
"I'll have him back!" exclaimed Aaron Bickford, an angry look appearing on his face. "He ain't goin' to get the best of me."
Mr. Bickford harnessed up his horse, and started after the fugitive. But in what direction should he drive? He was not long at fault. He met a milkman who had seen two boys starting out on the Grafton road, and so informed him.
"I guess they're bound for the circus," he said.
"Like as not," returned the blacksmith.
But he had a long chase of it. It was not until he was within half a mile of the circus tents that he descried the two boys, trudging along, Kit with his valise in his hand. Hearing the sound of wheels, the boys looked back, and in some dismay recognized their pursuer.
The blacksmith stood up in his wagon, and pointing his long whip at Kit, cried out, "Stop where you are, Kit Watson, or I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had!"