"I'll send the _Spray_ down by somebody," said d.i.c.k, "and then we can take a train from here direct to Oak Run," and so it was arranged.

The trip to Oak Run proved to be uneventful. And at the railroad station they were met by Jack Ness, the Rovers' hired man, who had driven over with the carryall to take them home.

"Glad to see you all looking so well," grinned the hired man.

"Getting fat as b.u.t.ter, Master Tom."

"Thanks, Jack, I'm feeling fine. Any news?"

"No, sir, none exceptin' that your uncle has had a row with Joel Fox, who has the farm next to ours."

"What was the row about?" questioned d.i.c.k.

"All about some fruit, sir. We had a tree hangin' over Fox's fence--finest pear tree on the place, that was. Fox strips the tree at night, sir--saw him with my own eyes."

"Oh, what cheek!" burst out Sam. "What did uncle do?"

"Tried to talk to him, and Fox told him to mind his own business, that he could have what fruit hung over his fence. So he could, but not half of it hung that way, and he took every blessed pear."

"Fox always was a mean man," murmured Tom. "I'd like to square accounts with him before I go back to Putnam Hall."

"I reckoned as how you might be up to something like that," said Ness, with another grin. "But you want to be careful. Only yesterday Fox shot off his gun at some boys who were after his apples."

"Did he hit the boys?"

"I don't think he did."

"Who were they?"

"I don't know. And I reckon he don't either."

"Humph!" Tom mused for a moment.

"I'd like to scare the mean fellow by making him think one of the boys was killed."

"That's an idea!" cried Sam, and winked at his brother. "Let's do it!"

They were soon bowling over Swift River and along the road leading to Valley Brook farm. At the farmhouse their Uncle Randolph and Aunt Martha stood in the dooryard to greet them.

"Back again, safe and sound!" cried Randolph Rover. "I suppose you feel like regular sailors."

"Well, we do feel a little that way," laughed Sam, and returned the warm kiss his aunt bestowed upon him. "It's nice to be home once more."

"Would you rather stay here than go back to Putnam Hall?" asked his aunt quickly.

"Oh, no, I can't say that, Aunt Martha. But it's awfully nice here, nevertheless."

A hot supper was awaiting them, and while they ate they told of all that had happened since they had been away. Randolph Rover shuddered over the way d.i.c.k had been treated.

"Be careful, my boy," he said. "Remember, even your father could not bring this Arnold Baxter to justice. He is evidently a thorough-paced scoundrel, and his companion is probably just as bad."

"And how goes the scientific farming, Uncle Randolph?" asked Tom, who knew how to touch his uncle in the right spot.

"Splendidly, my boy, splendidly! I am now working on a new rotation of crops. It will, I am certain, prove a revelation to the entire agricultural world."

"Did you make much money this season?" asked Sam dryly.

"Well--er--no; in fact, we ran a little behind. But we will do finely next year--I am certain of it. I will have some strawberries and celery which shall astonish our State agricultural committee,"

answered Randolph Rover. He was always enthusiastic, in spite of almost constant failure. Thus far his hobby had netted him a loss of several thousand dollars.

It was Friday, and Sat.u.r.day was to be given over to packing up for school. Yet on Sat.u.r.day morning Tom managed to call Sam aside.

"We'll go over to Fox's," said he. "Are you ready?"

"I am, Tom," answered the younger brother. "And be sure and pile it on."

"Trust me for that," and Tom winked in a fashion that set Sam to roaring.

They found Joel Fox at work along the roadside, mending a part of a stone wall which had tumbled down. Fox was a Yankee, and miserly and sour to the very core.

"Well, what do you want?" he demanded, as the boys came to a halt in front of him.

"Why, Mr. Fox, I thought you had skipped out!" cried Tom in pretended surprise.

"Skipped out?"

"Yes."

"Why should I skip out, boy?"

"On account of Harry Smith."

"Harry Smith? Who is he?"

"Harry Smith of Oak Run--the boy who was shot the other day.

Didn't you hear he was dead?"

At these words Joel Fox dropped the tools he was using and turned pale.

"Is--er--is the boy--er--" He could not finish.

"It was a wicked thing to do," put in Sam. "Any man that would shoot a boy ought to be lynched."

"Perhaps that crowd of men were coming up here," went on Tom.

"Didn't they have a rope with them?"

"To be sure they had a rope, Tom. And one of 'em said something about hanging."

"What crowd are you talking about?" stammered Joel Fox, growing paler and paler.