"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.
"Run, Benson!" cheered young Melville, "He'll never catch you now!"
CHAPTER XI
WHAT BEFELL THE REAL BENSON
Whistling softly, the real Jack Benson went along cheerily to the
appointed place.
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