“Well,” said Chester, “you certainly have had an eventful time.”

“There is no question about that,” Hal agreed.  “But how do you feel now, captain?”

“Tip top.  And you?”

“First rate.”

The troop continued at a trot, and Hal now believed that they were out of danger—­that there was no likelihood of encountering a force of the enemy—­and turned to his friends, remarking: 

“Well, we might as well—­Hello!”

He broke off suddenly and checked the pace of his horse.

“What’s up?” demanded Chester, doing likewise.

For answer Hal pointed down the road.  A man was approaching them at a dead run.

CHAPTER V.

Anthony Stubbs, war correspondent.

“Now, what in the name of all that’s wonderful do you suppose is the matter with him?” ejaculated Chester.

Hal shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“You’ve got me,” he admitted; “but by the look of him he’s not running for fun.”

“Right,” agreed Captain Anderson; “but whatever is on his trail will have to travel pretty lively to catch him.  Look at him come!”

As the stranger dashed toward them, head hanging and arms working like pistons, the three friends suddenly broke into a loud laugh.  A more comical-looking specimen of humanity would be hard to imagine.  The friends looked him over carefully as he came on.

Large he was, there could be no mistake about that, but he seemed to be about as wide as he was long.  Hal and Chester took in his dimensions with an appraising eye.  Stout and chubby, he must have weighed all of 200 pounds, and his height, the lads saw, could not be more than five feet four.

As he tore down the road as fast as his peculiar build would permit, he did not once raise his head, and therefore did not perceive the British troops in his path.  The lads could see that his face was red, and that he was puffing and snorting from lack of breath.  Not perceiving the men who barred his path, he would have dashed right in among them had not Hal brought him to a sudden stop with a word of command.

“Halt!” he cried.

With a gasp of amazement the man halted and gazed at the British as though bewildered.  One look he gave them and then exclaimed in a shrill piping voice, in English: 

“You are surrounded!  Run, Anthony, run!”

He suited the action to the word, and, turning in his tracks, ran, puffing and blowing, in the direction from which he had come.

In spite of his merriment at this comical sight, Hal put spurs to his horse and dashed after him.  The others did likewise.  Hearing the sounds of pursuit, the little stout man redoubled his efforts and puffed on like an engine.

Hal ranged his horse alongside of him, and, restraining his laughter, shouted in a stern tone: