With that Don put his own sprinting abilities to the test, dashing into the woods at the point where he had seen the others vanish.

Though it flashed through George Melville’s head that Broughton Emerson must have given information to the rival boatbuilder, the elder Melville did not now stop to question Mr. Emerson.

Instead, the father, who was rather heavy, started off puffily in the wake of his son.

“This looks like ticklish business,” George Melville told himself, “and Don, though usually self-contained, is hot enough of temper, at a time like this, to make matters pretty bad for all concerned.”

Wanting to see the matter through Broughton Emerson kept a little to the rear of the other capitalist.  It was a curious Indian file that stretched out through the woods with the uniformed boy in the lead.

“You may as well stop!” yelled Jacob Farnum, after the fugitive.  “I’m going to catch you, anyway!”

It looked that way, indeed.  Dark as it was, with the moon behind a cloud, the running boy, looking back over his shoulder, could see the enraged boatbuilder coming after him at great strides.

Mr. Farnum was soon so close upon the heels of his quarry that he could all but reach out his hand and grasp the boy’s collar.  But just then the boy went down to earth, instantly rolling himself as nearly into a ball as he could.

Jacob Farnum, unable to stop in time, tripped and fell over the fugitive, plunging, head-first, into a clump of bushes and scratching himself.

With a jubilant laugh the boy in uniform was up again, and off.  He got a good start, but the boatbuilder, after listening a few seconds, and getting the sounds of flight, bounded off, once more, in the right direction.

Don had halted precipitately, when he saw the tumble, but now he too darted forward once more.

“If Farnum can catch him,” shivered Do; “I’ve got to be at hand to help out in a lightning rescue.”

Mr. Farnum did some tall running before he again came in sight of the runner ahead.

Yet the pursuit had not reached its finish.  The fugitive suddenly dived through a fringe of bushes, going out of sight.

Mr. Farnum reached the spot, then halted, looking undecided, almost bewildered.

There was now no sound to guide the pursuer.

“Confound him, if he has gotten away,” muttered the boatbuilder, impatiently, to himself.  Yet he did not dare risk running forward in any direction, for fear of getting further from his quarry.

Don Melville halted, too, chuckling softly to himself.

“Oh, you!” snorted Farnum, glancing backward over his shoulder in high disgust.

Don chuckled again.

Just then the sound of stealthily moving feet came to the boatbuilder’s ears.  Don, in his glee, had lost the chance to make so much noise with his own feet that the other boy could steal softly away undetected.