“Perhaps he crossed the river,” thought the youngest Rover.  “But he couldn’t do that very well unless he had a boat and then he would run the risk of being dashed on the rocks.”

The edge of the river reached, Sam looked around on all sides of him.  Lew Flapp was still nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve missed him,” thought Sam.  “What next?”

As the youngest Rover stood meditating, a figure stole from behind some bushes which were close at hand.  The figure was that of Lew Flapp, who had been on the point of turning back when he had seen Sam coming.

“He will raise an alarm as soon as he sees me,” reasoned the bully.  “Oh, if only I could get him out of my way!”

He gazed at the youngest Rover and when he saw how close to the water’s edge Sam was standing, a sudden thought came into his mind.  As silently as a wild beast stealing on its prey, he crept up to Sam.

“There! how do like that, Sam Rover!” he cried, triumphantly, and gave the youngest Rover a shove which sent him over the bank and into the rocky stream below.

Sam gave out one yell and then, with a loud splash, sank beneath the surface.

Lew Flapp gazed for a second in the direction, wondering when Sam would reappear.  But then a new fear took possession of him and off he ran, this time harder than ever.

His course was along the river bank for a distance of a hundred yards, and then he came out on a road leading to a small place called Hacknack.

“To Hacknack!” he muttered, after reading a signboard.  “That’s the place I’m looking for.  One mile, eh?  Well, I had better lose no time in getting there.”

The bully was a fair walker and now fear lent speed to his limbs, and in less than fifteen minutes he reached the hamlet named.  He gazed around and presently located a small cottage standing near the edge of a sandpit.

“That must be the cottage,” he told himself, and walking to it he rapped on the door four times in succession and then four times again.

There was a stir within and then an old woman, bent with age and with a wicked look in her sharp, yellowish eyes, came to answer his summons.

“Is this Mother Matterson’s place?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m Mother Matterson,” squeaked the old woman.  “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Lew Flapp.  I’m looking for a fellow called Si Silvers,” he added, for that was the name Dan Baxter had assumed for the time being.

“It’s all right, old woman; tell him to come in,” said a voice from inside the cottage, and Lew Flapp entered the house.  Immediately the old woman closed the door after him and barred it.

CHAPTER XII

FLAPP AND BAXTER PLOT MISCHIEF

The cottage which Mother Matterson occupied was a much dilapidated one of a story and a half, containing three rooms and a loft.  Some of the windows were broken out and the chimney was sadly in need of repair.