"I don't care. I can't eat if Grit is gone," and with a heavy heart d.i.c.k waited for the horse to be saddled. He whistled shrilly his favorite call to Grit, hoping the dog might have broken away not far from the stable, and be in hiding somewhere, but no Grit appeared.

On the back of Rex, d.i.c.k made a hasty tour of the immediate neighborhood, inquiring of various persons he met if they had seen the bulldog. Grit was well known about Hamilton Corners, for he was often seen in his master's company. But this time no one had noticed him being led off in leash by a young man who seemed quite afraid of the brute that was so handsome for his very ugliness.

"He's been stolen for a reward," was Mr. Hamilton's opinion when he came home to lunch and heard d.i.c.k's woeful story. "You'll hear from him sooner or later. Better advertise in the county papers."

d.i.c.k put in several notices that afternoon, offering to pay a reward of a hundred dollars for the return of Grit.

"Now we'll have to wait," said the millionaire. "Never mind, d.i.c.k; if Grit is gone you can get another dog," for Mr. Hamilton was as fond of animals as was his son.

"There'll never be another Grit," answered d.i.c.k, sorrowfully.

Meanwhile, Grit was being led across the country fields which stretched out back of the Hamilton mansion.

"I've got to keep off the roads," muttered the youth who had hold of the leash. "There's too many people as knows a dorg like this. I wish I hadn't gone into this game. It's too risky, not only at bein' caught, but I don't like the way this dorg looks at my legs. He looks hungry."

Indeed, Grit was in no amiable frame of mind. He consented to be led along because he recognized his old leash, and the man leading him had the familiar smell of horses, which Grit loved so well. The dog was a little suspicious, but once before d.i.c.k had sent a stranger for him and the man had smelled of horses, so Grit, though he had grave doubts, was willing to go along. But he was getting anxious to see his master, as his uneasy growls from time to time indicated, to the no small alarm of the somewhat ragged youth leading him.

"Easy now, old boy," he said. "That's a good dorg. We'll soon be there,"

he added, as he cast an uneasy look around. "The wagon must be waiting somewheres about here."

He cut through a little clump of trees and emerged upon an unfrequented road that led to Leonardville, a distant settlement.

"There's the rig!" he exclaimed, as he caught sight of a wagon and a horse hitched to the fence. "The worst of it's over."

"Did you get 'im?" asked a man in the wagon.

"Yep, an' I'll be glad to git rid of 'im. He's a little too anxious to see what my legs is made of."

Grit was led toward the wagon. He seemed to think something was not just right, for he growled menacingly and hung back.

"Hold 'im a minute now, until I git the bag," ordered the man in the wagon, and, as the ragged youth did so, the man suddenly threw a big sack over Grit's head. Then, hastily wrapping him up in it and tying several turns of rope about it, the sack and dog were tossed into the wagon.

"Quick's the word!" exclaimed the man, as he and the youth got up on the seat and drove off. "Now to get our share of the reward. I hope that young feller what put up this job knows what he's about."

Poor Grit, whining and growling alternately in the bottom of the wagon, tried to work the suffocating bag off his head, but it was too tightly fastened.

The mail the next day brought d.i.c.k a badly-written and worse-spelled missive, in which it was stated that if he wanted Grit returned he could have him by paying two hundred dollars' reward. No names were signed, and the handwriting was unfamiliar.

"I told you so," said Mr. Hamilton. "But who's got him?"

"The letter doesn't say. I'm to leave two hundred dollars to-night under a flat stone, near the stump just where the county road crosses b.u.t.ternut Creek. Then, the letter says, the dog will be back at the stables to-morrow morning."

"Well," remarked Mr. Hamilton, "that's a hundred more than you advertised to pay. I guess you can't help yourself. You'd better do as the letter says."

"I'll not!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"What are you going to do? Inform the police? They won't be able to do much. Besides, they'll never bother over a dog, no matter how valuable he is."

"No," replied d.i.c.k. "I'm not going to tell the police."

"What then?"

"I'm going to turn detective myself and find Grit! See, here is the first clue," and he held up the envelope of the letter. "This was mailed in Leonardville. I'm going there for a starter, and I'll find Grit!"

With flashing eyes d.i.c.k hurried to the stables to order Rex saddled.

CHAPTER XVII.

GRIT'S REVENGE.

Peters soon had the horse ready, and as d.i.c.k leaped into the saddle his father came hurrying out to the stables.

"Now be careful, d.i.c.k," he cautioned. "Don't do anything rash. What are your plans?"

"I'm going to ride in the direction of Leonardville. That's about ten miles by the main road. I'll inquire as I go along; but what I'll do after I get there I can't tell."

"Well, be careful, that's all," concluded Mr. Hamilton. "The fellows who stole Grit are no common thieves, I imagine, and I hope you don't get into trouble with them."

"I'm not worrying about trouble. Once I get where Grit is, he and I can take care of the thieves all right," and d.i.c.k laughed grimly.

He started off at an easy canter, though Rex was full of mettle and wanted to gallop.

"No, Rex," said d.i.c.k, for he had a habit of talking to his horse as he did to Grit. "We'll take it easy. We've got a long day ahead of us."

It was about ten o'clock, and d.i.c.k decided to ride several miles without stopping to make inquiries, as the day previous he had pretty well covered the neighborhood near his home. But in about an hour, having reached a small village, he asked several persons he met if they had seen anything of his dog. No one had, and he pushed on.

Mile after mile he rode, stopping every little while to make inquiries, but without avail. He got dinner at a wayside hotel and then resumed his trip. It was about three o'clock when, as he stopped at a watering trough under a big chestnut tree on the edge of the road, he saw a wagon coming toward him.

"I'll ask this man," thought d.i.c.k. He waited until the vehicle and the driver were in plainer view through the cloud of dust raised and then he exclaimed:

"Why, Henry! How'd you get out here?"

"Oh, I've been after some old iron," replied the secretary and general man-of-all-work of the International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation. "I heard of a farmer who had a lot of sc.r.a.p for sale and I went after it."

"Did you get it?"

"Sure. It's in the wagon," and Henry nodded toward the rear of his vehicle, which was filled with a ma.s.s of broken iron. "I started away from home yesterday afternoon expecting to get back last night, but I had a breakdown and I had to stay until morning. But what are you doing out here?"

"Looking for Grit," and then d.i.c.k told about the theft of his dog. "I don't s'pose you've seen anything of him, have you?"

"Where did you say that letter came from?" asked Henry, showing some excitement.

"Leonardville. That's where I'm headed for. Why?"

"Then I saw your dog!" exclaimed Henry.