“So did I,” admitted Tavia, quickening her pace.

“It is always so lonely in the lane at night, we should have gone around.”

“Let’s run,” suggested Tavia.  “One row a day is enough for me.”

The bushes stirred suspiciously now, and both girls were alarmed.  They were midway in the lane, and could not gain the road, except by running on to the end of the lonely path.  Each side was lined with a thick underbrush, and—­there was no mistaking it now—­someone was stealing along beside them!

Taking hold of hands the girls ran.  As they did the figure of a man darted out in the path after them.  Not a word was spoken—­all their strength was put into speed—­to get to the end of the lane before that man should overtake them!

They knew the footing well, although the path was rough with tree stumps and rocks thrown there from the fields at the side.

Suddenly there was an exclamation.  Turning quickly Tavia saw the man’s form rolling in the deep grass.

“He has fallen over the big stump,” she said, “and has rolled into the thick briars.  Hurry now, we will get out all right.”  And, with renewed courage, the girls ran on, reaching the end of the lane in full view of houses, before the “tramp” could possibly overtake them.

“That was the same fellow,” declared Tavia.  “What in the world does he follow us for?”

“It’s all the Burlock business,” Dorothy answered.  “But hurry, we must give the alarm this time.  Perhaps they will be able to catch him.”

Out of breath, and very much frightened, the girls reached the center of the village, going directly there instead of turning into a side street to go home.

“Perhaps father is in his office,” remarked Dorothy.

“There’s Ralph,” said Tavia, as that young man emerged from a doorway.

Quicker than it takes to tell it a searching party was formed.  The three men who had been talking politics were still in the major’s office, and when told of the girl’s fright they promptly started out for the lane picking up more help at every turn.

“We will get him if we have to burn down the woods,” declared the major, deeply incensed at his daughter’s peril.

“And not a gun in the crowd,” remarked Mr. MacAllister.  “This is where we need our constable.”

They had reached the lane now, and it was quite dark.  Numbers of men, who had been taking a quiet evening smoke at their own doors joined in the “rounding up” as Mr. Ford called it.

“No Squire Sanders to help him out this time,” some one remarked.

Then the men scattered—­completely surrounding the place where the tramp had been last seen.

“The only way he could get away from us would be in a balloon,” said Mr. MacAllister.

“Or an airship,” spoke up someone else.

With heavy clubs and every available weapon to beat down the brush they started out through the lane on the man hunt.