"Quick, Leo! To the Post-office—to the Post-office!" he cried, tremblingly, pushing and pointing the dog off.
Leo refused to go. He did not understand all this mystery. Ford felt for a stick, and shook it at him. Leo bounded away silently up the steep. Ford half fell, half sat down, in the darkness on the grass.
He never knew how long it was before he was startled from his stupor by hearing stealthy steps approach down the road. He strained his young eyes to make out a dozen tall figures moving noiselessly toward his hiding-place. They were the astonished men from the village, roused from their circle of gossip around the stoop of the store by Leo's advent and extraordinary excitement.
The letter had been discovered at once by Amzi's brother himself, who, like the rest, with stockings drawn over his boots, headed the party. Ford intercepted them, and made his hurried explanation.
"Stay here," said Lot Spinner, "till we call you."
They leaped the garden wall. A few minutes later Ford heard shouts, and the sound of a gun or two, and a struggle on the house piazza.
"They've got 'em!" he exclaimed, delight and relief getting the best of his long fright and pain.
And so they had; for when Lot Spinner came up and carried the boy down to the house, "Mr. Alexander Kingbolt"—afterward put into jail as Dennis Leary—his comrades, and their tools were all secured under rude guardianship together.
Just as Ford was helped into the house, Leo darted up. The dog had been left behind, lest he should warn the burglars of the party coming from the village, but he had contrived to make his escape.
Ford joined in the cheers for him when at eleven o'clock Major and Mrs. Pepper rode hurriedly up to the brightly lit house to hear the end of the story which the village people up the mountain had stopped them hurrying toward home to tell. Soon after arrived Amzi and Mira; more explanations, and much more ado made over Ford and Leo than either of them relished.