he would have stopped there, but all the instincts of the hunter were
aroused. It was still raining, and he was already soaked. Wet branches
and leaves struck him in the face as he passed, but his energy and
eagerness were undimmed.

He, too, dropped at the hole under the broken palings and slid forward
face foremost. The wet grass was as slippery as ice, and after he
passed through the hole Dick kept going. Moreover, his speed increased.
He had not realized that the garden went to the very edge of the ravine,
and he was shooting down a steep slope to the depth of thirty feet.
He grasped instinctively at weeds and grass as he made his downward
plunge and fetched up easily at the bottom.

He sprang to his feet and saw the shadowy fugitive running down the
ravine. In an instant he followed headlong, tripped once or twice on the
wet grass, but was up every time like lightning, and once more in swift
pursuit. The fugitive turned once, raised his pistol and pulled the
trigger again, evidently forgetful that it was empty. When the hammer
snapped on the trigger he uttered a low cry of anger and hurled the
useless weapon into the grass. Then he whirled around and faced Dick,
who was coming on, eager and panting.

Dick's own pistol was empty and he did not carry his small sword.
He stopped abruptly when the other turned, and, in the dim light and rain,
he saw that his opponent was a young man or rather youth of about his own
size and age. When he saw the lad cast the pistol aside Dick, moved by
some chivalrous impulse, dropped his own in the grass.

Then the two stared at each other. They were far beyond the line of the
pickets, and as they stood in the deep ravine there was no chance that