“Right towards that rock, Ruthie!” gasped Tom, venturing a glance behind him.

“What rock do you mean?” demanded his sister.

“The rock where you folks found me the other day.  It’s near the opening to Jerry’s cave.  I see them!”

“’Ware boom!” yelled Tom, and shifted his helm.

The great sail went slowly over; the iceboat swooped around like a great bird skimming the ice.  Then, in a minute, it was headed back up the lake toward the scene of the trouble.

Another rifle shot echoed across the ice.

CHAPTER XIX

BLENT IS MASTER

Ruth was truly frightened, and so was her chum.  Could it be possible that those rough men dared fire their guns at Jerry Sheming?  Or was the poor boy foolish enough to try to frighten his pursuers off with the weapons which Ruth very well knew he had in the cave with him?

“Oh, I’m glad Mr. Tingley’s here to-day,” cried Busy Izzy.  “He’ll give that Lem Daggett what’s coming to him—­that’s what he’ll do!”

“Hope so,” agreed Tom, grimly.

The latter brought the iceboat into the wind near the shore, and Isadore dropped the sail again.  They all tumbled out and ran up the bank.  A little climb brought them to the plateau where they could see all that was going on near the rock on which Ruth and Tom had left the mattock the evening before.

Lem Daggett had four men with him—­all rough-looking fellows, and armed with rifles.  Jerry Sheming was standing half-leg deep in the running stream, his hands over his head, and the men were holding him under the muzzles of their guns.

“Why! it beats the ’wild and woolly’!” gasped Tom Cameron.  “Silver Ranch and Bullhide weren’t as bad as this.  The scoundrels!”

“Come out o’ that brook, Jerry, or it’ll be the wuss for ye.”  Lem Daggett drawled, standing on the flat rock and grinning at his captive.

“What do you want of me?” demanded the fugitive, sullenly.

“You know well enough.  Oh, I got a warrant for ye, all right.  Ev’rything’s all right an’ proper.  Ye know Rufe Blent don’t make no mistakes.  He’s got ye.”

“An’ here he comes now!” ejaculated another of the rough men, looking toward the east end of the island.

The four hurrying young folk looked back.  Driving hastily from the lodge, and behind Mr. Tingley and Preston, came a heavy sleigh drawn by a pair of horses.  Rufus Blent and a driver were in it.

But Mr. Tingley approached first, and it was plain by a single glance at his face that he was angry.

“What’s all this shooting about?” he demanded.  “Don’t you men know that Cliff Island is private property?  You are trespassing upon it.”

“Oh, I guess we’re within our rights, boss,” said Lem Daggett, laughing.  “I’m the constable.  And these here are helpers o’ mine.  We was arter a bird, and we got him.”