LITMIR.BIZ

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tramps won’t stay at the barn very long.”

      Scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, the two Westmore boys continued on their way. The snow had now stopped coming down, yet the keen fall wind was as sharp as ever. But presently the wind shifted and then they made better progress.

      “I see a farmhouse!” cried Harry, a little later.

      “Not much of a place,” returned his brother. “Yet we may get help there, – who knows?”

      When the cottage – it was no more than that – was reached, Joe knocked loudly on the door.

      “Who is there?” came in a shrill voice from inside.

      “Two boys,” answered Joe. “We want help, for some tramps have robbed us.”

      “I can’t help you. The tramps robbed me, too – stole two of my best chickens. I’m an old man and I must watch my property. You go to Neighbor Dugan’s – he’ll help you, maybe.”

      “Where is Dugan’s place?”

      “Down the road a spell. Keep right on an’ you can’t miss it.” And that was all the boys could get out of the occupant of the cottage.

      “He must be a crabbed old chap,” was Harry’s comment, as they resumed their weary tramp.

      “Well, an old man can’t do much, especially if he is living all alone. I suppose he’s afraid to leave his place for fear the tramps will visit it during his absence,” and in this surmise Joe was correct.

      Fortunately the farm belonging to Andy Dugan was not far distant. The farmer was a whole-souled Irishman and both boys had met him on more than one occasion at Mr. Westmore’s store.

      “Sure, an’ where did you b’ys spring from?” said Dugan, on opening the door. “’Tis a likely walk ye are from town.”

      “We’ve been out for some nuts, over to Glasby’s Hill,” answered Harry.

      “Ah now, so ye’ve got there before me, eh? I didn’t know ’twas known there was nuts there.”

      “Mr. Dugan, we want your help,” put in Joe, quickly.

      “Phat for, Joe – to help carry home the nuts? Where’s the bags?”

      “We met some tramps, and – ”

      “Tramps? On this road ag’in?” Andy Dugan was all attention and his face grew sober. “Tell me about thim at onct!”

      The boys entered the farmhouse, where were collected the Dugan family, consisting of Mrs. Dugan, who weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds, and seven children, including three half-grown sons. All listened with close attention to what the Westmore boys had to relate.

      “Th’ schamps!” cried Andy Dugan. “Sure an’ they should be in the town jail! An’ was the watch an’ chain worth much?”

      “Twelve or fifteen dollars. And a birthday present, too.”

      “I’ll go after thim, that I will. Pat, git me gun, and you go an’ take yer own gun, too – an’, Teddy, git the pistol, an’ see if it’s after bein’ loaded. We’ll tache thim scallywags a lisson, so we will!”

      “That’s the talk, Mr. Dugan!” said Joe, brightening. “But you’ll have to hurry, or they’ll be gone.”

      “I’ll hurry all I can, lad. But phat about you? You’re too tired to walk back, ain’t ye?”

      “Lit thim roide the mare, Andy,” came from Mrs. Dugan. “Th’ mare wants exercise annyway.”

      “So they shall, Caddy,” answered the husband, and one of the smaller boys of the family was sent to bring the mare forth.

      In less than ten minutes the party was ready to set out, Andy Dugan and his son Pat with guns, Teddy, who boasted of a face that was nothing but a mass of freckles, with the pistol, and Joe and Harry, on the mare’s back, with clubs.

      The mare was rather a frisky creature, and both boys had all they could do to make her walk along as they wished.

      “She’s been in the sthable too long,” explained Andy Dugan. “She wants a run av a couple o’ miles to take the dancin’ out av her heels.”

      “Well, she mustn’t run now,” said Harry, who had no desire to reach the old barn before the others could come up.

      The wind was gradually going down, so journeying along the road was more agreeable than it had been. When they passed the little cottage they saw the old man peeping from behind a window shutter at them.

      “He’s a quare sthick, so he is,” said Andy Dugan. “But, as he is afther lavin’ us alone, we lave him alone.”

      The party advanced upon the barn boldly and when they were within a hundred yards of the structure, Joe and Harry urged the mare ahead. Up flew the rear hoofs of the steed and away she went pell-mell along the road.

      “Whoa! whoa!” roared Joe. “Whoa, I say!”

      But the mare did not intend to whoa, and reaching the barn, she flew by like a meteor, much to the combined chagrin of the riders. Joe was in front, holding the reins, and Harry in the rear, with his arms about his brother’s waist. Both kept bouncing up and down like twin rubber balls.

      “Do stop her, Joe!”

      “Whoa!” repeated Joe. “Whoa! Confound the mare, she won’t listen to me!”

      “She is running away with us!”

      “Well, if she is, I can’t help it.”

      “Pull in on the reins.”

      “That’s what I am doing – just as hard as I can.”

      “Hi! hi!” came in Andy Dugan’s voice. “Phy don’t ye sthop? Ain’t this the barn ye was afther spakin’ about?”

      “Yes!” yelled back Joe. “But your mare won’t stop!”

      “Hit her on th’ head wid yer fist!” screamed Pat Dugan.

      “I don’t believe that will stop her,” said Harry.

      “Perhaps it will, if she’s used to it,” said his brother, and an instant later landed a blow straight between the mare’s ears.

      Up went the creature’s hind quarters in a twinkling and over her head shot the two boys, to land in the snow and brushwood beside the roadway. Then the mare shied to one side and pranced down the road, and soon a turn hid her from view.

      CHAPTER III

      A FRUITLESS SEARCH

      “B’ys! b’ys! Are ye after bein’ hurted?”

      It was Andy Dugan who asked the question, as he came rushing to Joe and Harry’s assistance and helped to set them on their feet.

      “I – I guess I’m all right, Mr. Dugan,” panted Harry. “But I – I thought my neck was broken at first!”

      “So did I,” put in Joe. His left hand was scratched but otherwise he was unharmed.

      “Oh, father, the mare’s run away!” chimed in Teddy Dugan. “We won’t never git her back anymore!”

      “Hould yer tongue!” answered the parent. “She’ll come back as soon as it’s feedin’ time, don’t worry.”

      “Oh, father, are you sure?”

      “To be course I am. Didn’t she run away twice before, an’ come back that same way, Teddy? Come on after thim tramps an’ let the mare take care av hersilf.”

      “We’ve made noise enough to bring the tramps out – if they’re still in the barn,” was Joe’s comment. “I believe they’ve gone.”

      “Exactly my opinion,” answered Harry.

      Advancing boldly to the doorway of the barn, Andy Dugan pointed his gun and cried:

      “Come out av there,

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