"You! You ahead!" he shouted. "Stop, or I'll send some lead after you. Do you want me to fire?"
Swift as thought Don Melville, again in pursuit at the rear, yelled:
"Don't mind him, Benson! Scoot! He hasn't any gun."
"If some fairy only would take care of that snake-in-the-grass behind me!" quivered Mr. Farnum, silently.
Having the uniformed boy plainly in sight, though some hundred or more feet ahead, Farnum by no means felt like giving up the race. All the same, the boatbuilder, long out of practice in athletics, was beginning to feel severely the effects of this chase over rough ground and through bushes.
"I've got to die or get him!" muttered Farnum, doggedly, between his teeth. "Oh, for a little light on this cloudy night! If I could be sure the fellow is, or isn't, Benson, I might be more willing to drop this pace!"
Putting on a better spurt, as a last, desperate resort, Farnum did all in his power to overtake the uniformed boy.
He seemed likely enough to do it—would have done it, no doubt, but for a new trick on the part of the enemy.
Don Melville, seeing how matters were going, and being in much better training, increased his own burst of speed, running as softly as possible.
Then, with an exultant cry, Don leaped upon the back of Jacob Farnum, catching him around the neck and bearing him to the ground.