AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT
Had Jim McGovern taken another course when starting out on the
war-path, he would not have met such overwhelming disaster, for he
would have encountered Bob Budd returning from an experience hardly
less stirring than his own; but the two followed different routes and
did not see each other until they met in camp, after both had been
through their experience and the night was well advanced.
Reaching the highway, Dick mounted his bicycle and continued his
journey homeward at an easy pace. There was a faint moon in the sky,
and now and then the wind blew fitfully among the tree branches, but
he was in good spirits. The words of the physician concerning his
father encouraged him greatly, and he was happy over the unexpected
manner in which he had recovered his bicycle. Mr. Hunter had notified
him that day, that, on the first of the following month, his wages
would be increased, and that so long as he showed the same devotion to
his interests, he might count upon a yearly repetition of the favor.
“I’m luckier than I deserve,” he reflected, as he skimmed over the
highway, “for I was able to attend school until I graduated, and Mr.
Hunter, who was one of the trustees, told me that afternoon that he
had had his eye on me for several years and wanted me. Well, I have
tried to do as father and mother taught me when I was a little fellow,
and I’ve no doubt that that’s the reason for it all. I can’t
understand how any one can show the meanness of Bob Budd and those
boys he has with him. There was no earthly excuse for stealing my
bicycle—Hello! there’s some one in the road yonder.”
He was approaching a clump of trees where the shadows were so thick
that he could not see distinctly, but he was certain he observed a
figure step back as if to avoid being noticed.
Dick gently applied the brake to his wheel and hesitated whether to go
on or not. He recalled that he had heard rumors of robbery and
attempts at burglary in the neighborhood within the past week. Indeed,
there were signs discovered that very morning that proved an effort
had been made to pry open one of the shutters of Mr. Hunter’s store;
but the marauders were scared off by the dog that was kept on duty
every night.
Suppose one of these criminals had located himself alongside the road
for the purpose of robbing passers-by!
“He wouldn’t get much from _me_” reflected Dick, who had less
than a single dollar in change with him, “but, all the same, I don’t
fancy being stopped by him. He might shoot me because of his
disappointment. Maybe he thinks I am like some other clerks, who make
a practice of robbing their employers.”
By this time the bicycle was hardly moving, the headway being just
sufficient to enable him to keep his poise. He peered intently
forward, ready to turn and speed down the road on the first sign of
danger; but if a person was skulking among the trees, he took good
care to keep out of sight, and whether or not Dick was mistaken could
be learned only by going forward.
He was thinking fast. If he wished to reach home, where his parents
were expecting him, this was the only road, unless he went back to
town and made a circuit of eight or ten miles, a proceeding not to be
thought of when he was already within a half-mile of his own door.
True, he might adopt another method. He could return until beyond
sight of the rogue, whoever he was, leave his bicycle at the roadside,
and then cut across lots on foot.
But Dick was a plucky youth, and could not bear the thought of fleeing
from danger whose nature he did not understand.
“No, I’ll go ahead,” he muttered, compressing his lips, as he removed
the brake and began gradually increasing his speed. “If he stops me,
why, there’ll be a fight, that’s all!”
His plan was to “put on all steam” and dash through the gloomy space,
which was only a few rods in extent. By doing so he counted upon
surprising any enemy that might be lurking there and getting beyond
his reach before he could interpose.
There was but one difficulty in the way. He had already approached so
near the clump of trees that he could not well obtain the necessary
speed. But he could try, and try he did.
The muscular legs bore down hard on the pedals, and the big wheel
began increasing its swift revolutions, but the pace was hardly
one-half what it would have been had he possessed a few more rods in
which to set things humming.
Dick Halliard had good cause for his misgivings. There was an
individual among the shadow of the trees, waiting, like a spider, for
a victim to come within his net.
At the moment of gliding into the shadow the youth saw him. He was
standing in the middle of the road, directly in his path.
“Out of the way, or I’ll run you down!” shouted Dick, aiming
apparently at him, but making a sharp turn to the left.
“Try it, if you dare!” called the stranger in a gruff voice.
“What do you want?” demanded Dick, bending all his efforts to the task
of flanking the fellow.
“I want _you_!” was the startling reply; “get down off of that
wheel before I fetch you down!”
Whoever the fellow was he kept in Dick’s path so persistently, that
despite all he could do he could not prevent a collision. The bicycle
fell with a resounding bang on its side, and the rider was compelled
to make a dexterous leap to save himself from going down with it.
One of the most noticeable traits about the sinewy Dick was his
quickness of resource and presence of mind. While he suspected the
identity of the party who had thus stopped him, he was in doubt until
the last words were spoken. Then the young man in his excitement
forgot to disguise his tones. It was Bob Budd, who had taken this
occasion to carry out the threat he had made so often in the presence
of others.
Dick could not believe the bully meant to use any weapon, but intended
simply to chastise him. He meant to give the boy an unmerciful
beating.
It was this certainty that inspired Dick to assail him with all the
energy at his command.
The instant he was freed from his wheel, and, without uttering the
first word of warning, Dick let fly with both fists, in such sharp and
quick succession that the dazed bully went over on his back, as if
smitten by the hoof of a mule.
“I know you, Bob Budd!” said the younger youth, whose anger was at a
high point, “and you have been threatening me a long time; now we’ll
settle the business for good.”
“I aint Bob Budd, either,” replied that worthy, climbing to his feet.
Then seeing the absurdity of the situation, he added, desperately:
“Yes, I am Bob Budd, and I have a big account to square with you.”
“This is the time,” said Dick, who, impatient at his slowness, started
to assail him the moment he got on his feet.
“Hold on,” protested Bob, “can’t you wait till a fellow is up? Why
don’t you fight fair?”
“I’m holding on,” returned Dick, edging round into the moonlight where
he could observe every movement of his antagonist; “but I’m tired of
waiting for you.”
“I’m coming; you needn’t worry.”
But the vigorous reception of the younger lad had taught the bully to
be careful. While he was as confident as the other Piketon Ranger of
his ability to “do him up,” he saw the need of going about it
carefully. He threw out his arms in the most approved style, and, as
Dick slowly retreated a few steps, followed under the belief that he
was becoming timid and that the blows struck a moment before were of a
chance nature.
But the younger now had the elder in the moonlight, where he could see
every movement distinctly. He bounded at Bob again with such fierce
quickness that the big fellow was once more prostrate ere he could
strike or parry a blow.
“I guess that’s enough,” said Dick, “but if you are not satisfied I’ll
wait.”
“I’m not through with you yet,” replied Bob, who was now in a white
heat of anger; so much so indeed that he hastily drew the loaded
revolver that he carried at all times. He had lost his self-command
and was determined to punish Dick Halliard, who had turned the tables
upon him with such vengeance.