"There's such a lot of sand along here, uncle; the carts cut the road up so, coming from the pits."

"Yes; horrible roads. There--oh--oh--oh! Go steady."

"All right, uncle," said Tom; and he pushed on steadily enough right along the lane where he had chased Pete Warboys not so long before.

Then the fir-wood was reached, and at last the road rose till it was no longer down between two high sand-banks crowned with furze and pine, but opened out as they reached the top of the slope which ran down past the sand-pit to the river with its shallow ford.

"Which are your uncle's woods?" said Uncle James suddenly.

"Right away back. You can see them when you lean forward. Stop a moment; let's get close to the edge. That's better," he said, as he paused just at the top of the slope. "Now lean forward, and look away to the left a little way from the church tower. That's one of them.

I'm not sure about the others, for Uncle Richard does not talk about them much."

_Whizz! Rustle_.

"What's that?" said Uncle James, ceasing his tiresome moaning.

"Don't know, uncle. Rabbit, I think."

_Rap_!

"Yes, it was a rabbit. They strike the ground with their feet when they are startled."

"Ah! Then that's his wood is it?" said James Brandon, leaning forward.

"A nice bit of property."

_Crack_!

"What's that, boy?"

"Somebody's throwing stones," cried Tom excitedly, turning to look round, but there was nothing visible, though the boy felt sure that the thrower must be Pete Warboys hidden somewhere among the trees. Then he felt sure of it, for, glancing toward the clumps of furze in the more open part, another well-aimed stone came and struck the road between the wheels of the bath-chair.

"Is that some one throwing at me?" cried Uncle James angrily.

"No, uncle," said Tom, as he leaned upon the handle at the back of the chair; "I expect they're meant for me--I'm sure of it now," he added, for there was a slight rap upon his elbow, making him wince as he turned sharply.

"The scoundrel! Whoever it is I'll have a policeman to him."

"Yes; there: it is Pete Warboys," cried Tom excitedly. "I saw him dodge out from behind one of the trees to throw. Oh, I say, did that hit you, uncle?"

"No, boy, only brushed the cushion. The dog! The scoundrel! He--Stop, don't go and leave me here."

Tom did not, for, acting on the impulse of the moment, as he saw Pete run out to hurl another stone, he wrenched himself round, unconsciously giving the chair a start, and ran off into the wood in chase of the insolent young poacher, who turned and fled.

No: Tom Blount did not leave his uncle there, for the chair began to run gently on upon its light wire wheels, then faster and faster, down the long hill slope, always gathering speed, till at last it was in full career, with the invalid sitting bolt upright, thoroughly unnerved, and trying with trembling hands to guide its front wheel so as to keep it in the centre of the road. Farther back the land had been soft, and to Tom's cost as motive power; but more on the hill slope the soft sand had been washed away by many rains, and left the road hard, so that the three-wheeled chair ran with increasing speed, jolting, bounding, and at times seeming as if it must turn over. There, straight before the rider, was the spot below where the road forked, the main going on to the ford, that to the left, deep in sand, diving down into the large sand-pit, which had been dug at from time beyond the oldest traditions of the village. A kind of ridge had here been kept up, to form the roadway right down into the bottom--a cruel place for horses dragging cartloads of the heavy material--and from this ridge on either side there was a stiff slope down to where the level of the huge pit spread, quite a couple of hundred feet below the roadway straight onward to the ford.

And moment by moment Uncle James Brandon sped onward toward the fork, holding the cross handle of the bath-chair with both hands, and steering it first in one direction then in the other, as he hesitated as to which would be the safer. If he went to the right, there, crossing the road at right angles, was the little river, which might be shallow but looked deep; and at any rate meant, if not drowning, wetting. If he went to the left from where he raced on, it looked as if he would have to plunge down at headlong speed into what seemed to be an awful chasm.

But the time for consideration was very short, though thoughts fly like flashes. One way or the other, and he must decide instantly, for there was just before him the point where the road divided--a hundred yards away--fifty yards--twenty yards, and the wind rushing by his ears as the bath-chair bounded on.

Which was it to be?

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"I don't want to fight," thought Tom Blount, as he rushed off in pursuit of Pete Warboys, this time with full intention, and not led into it by accident. "Fighting means knocking the skin off one's knuckles, black eyes, nose bleeding, and perhaps getting thrashed. And I may be, for he's a big, strong, heavy fellow, and I don't think I could hit him half hard enough to make him care. But it seems to me as if I must have a go at him. Can't stand there and be pelted by such a fellow, it looks so cowardly. Besides, he's a bit afraid, or he wouldn't run away."

All this and much more thought Tom, as he ran on as fast as he could on diving into the wood when he left the road. An hour or so ago, when Pete rushed in among the trees, Tom had soon given up the chase; but he felt that it would not do to let the young scoundrel feel that he was a kind of modern bold outlaw, with a sanctuary of his own in the woods; so clenching his fists hard, Tom sped on, making up his mind to run his quarry down.

"Uncle James won't mind my leaving him, if I can go back and say I have punched Pete's head for throwing stones at him.--Bother!"

Tom gathered himself up, and stood flinching during a few moments, for he had caught his foot against a closely-sawn-off stump, and though the earth was covered with pine-needles it was hard.

But the accident did not detain him many moments. There in front was Pete showing from time to time, as he dodged in and out among the tall columnar tree-trunks, now in shadow, now pa.s.sing across some patch of sunshine; and Tom ran on faster than before, the pain having made him feel angry, and as if he must, to use his own words, "take it out of Pete," he being the active cause.

From time to time the great hulking lad glanced back, expecting to see that he had shaken off his pursuer, but looked in vain, for Tom was now doggedly determined. His brow was knit, his teeth set, and his clenched fists held close to his sides, and after keeping up the high rate of speed for some minutes, he now, feeling that it was going to be a long chase, settled down to a steady football or hare-and-hound trot, which combined fair pace with a likelihood of being able to stay.

Pete Warboys too had been compelled to slacken somewhat in his clumsy bovine rush, and Tom observed with satisfaction, as the minutes went on, and they must have been--pursuer and pursued--toiling over the slippery fir-needles for quite a quarter of an hour, that Pete glanced over his shoulder more often than before.

"He's getting pumped out," muttered Tom. "He's so big that he can't keep his wind, and he'll stop short soon. Oh, I say, why don't I look where I'm going!"

For this time the sandy earth had suddenly given way beneath him, just in the darkest part of the wood, and he plumped right down to the bottom of a rough pit, and went on before he could stop himself right under the roots of a great fir-tree, half of which stood out bare and strange, over what looked like an enormous rabbit-hole.

Tom looked wonderingly at the hole, and backed out into the pit, climbed out, and continued his chase, rather breathlessly now, for the fall had not been good for his breathing apparatus. He had lost ground too, but he soon made that up, for Pete was getting exhausted; and, what seemed strange, since Tom's last fall he had turned off, and appeared to be running in a circle, till all at once he stopped short with his back up against a tree, panting heavily, and with the perspiration dripping from his forehead.

There was a vicious look in the fellow's countenance, for he was showing his teeth, and as Tom drew near, he spat on one hand, and took a fresh grip of the thick stick he carried. Then, taking a step forward, he raised the weapon, and aimed a savage blow at his adversary, that would in all probability have laid Tom _hors de combat_, at all events for a few minutes.

But to give good effect to a blow struck with a stick, the object aimed at must be at a certain distance. If the blow fall when the object is beyond or within that distance, its efficacy is very much diminished.

Now as Pete struck at Tom, the latter was for a time at exactly the right distance, but as the boy rushed at him, or rather leaped at him at last, he was not in the aforesaid position long enough, and the blow did not fall till he was right upon Pete, getting a smart rap, but having the satisfaction of seeing the young scoundrel go down as if shot, and roll over and over at the foot of the tree.

Tom went down too, for he could not check himself; but he was up first, and ready enough to avoid another vicious blow from the cudgel, and catch Pete right in the mouth a most unscientific blow delivered with his right fist. All the same though it did its work, and Pete went down again.

Once more he sprang up, and tried to strike with the stick, but Tom's blood was up, and he closed with him, getting right in beyond his guard, and for the next few minutes there was a fierce struggle, ending in both going down together, Tom unfortunately undermost, and by the time he gained his feet his adversary was off again, running as hard as he could go.

"A coward!" muttered Tom, after running a few yards and then giving up, to stand panting and exhausted. "Ugh! how my side hurts!" he said, as he clapped his hand upon his ribs where the blow from the stick had fallen. "I don't care though; I won, and he has gone."

He stood trying to catch sight of Pete again, but could not see him, for the simple reason that the lad had dropped down behind a clump of bracken growing silver-leaved in the sunshine in an opening in the wood, and here he crept on, watching as, after hesitating, Tom began to retire hastily, so as to return to his uncle in the chair.

Tom did not go far though without stopping, for he had aimed to reach the pit into which he had fallen, and here he stood gazing down, evidently puzzled, for there was something particular about the place which attracted him; while, to increase his interest, all at once there was a rustling noise, and Pete Warboys' long lean dog thrust out its head from the side hole beneath the fir-tree roots, which hung out quite bare, looked up, saw who was gazing down, turned, and thrust out its long bony tail instead. This, however, was only seen for a moment and then gone.

"That's strange," thought Tom, as he walked on back pretty fast now, for it suddenly occurred to him that his uncle must be out of patience, and that he had been longer than he thought for.

He found too that he had run farther than he thought, and he was getting pretty hot and breathless by the time he trotted out of the wood, and into the sandy lane, where, instead of his uncle's face as he sat looking back impatiently in the chair, there was the bare road and nothing more, save a red admiral b.u.t.terfly flitting here and there and settling in the dust.

"He must have asked somebody pa.s.sing to wheel him back," thought Tom, who immediately began to play Red Indian or Australian black, and look for the trail--to wit, the thin wheel-marks left by the chair. But though he found those which had been made in coming plainly lining the soft sandy road, and ran in different directions toward home, there were no returning tracks.

"Then he must have gone on," thought Tom; and he ran back to where he had left his uncle, to see now faintly in the hard road a continuation of the three wheel-marks, so very distinct from any that would have been left by cart or carriage, being very narrow, and three instead of two or four.

He went on slowly trying to trace the wheel-marks, but the road soon became so hard that he missed them; a few yards farther on he saw the faint mark made by one, then again two showed, and then they ceased, but he was on the right track, he knew; and walking rapidly on down the hill, with his eyes now on the road, now right ahead toward the river and the ford, he began wondering who could have come along there, and where his uncle had made whoever it was take him.