arrives, Dyke. Our game is desperate, and will fight hard if
cornered."

"I am aware of that, but I do not fear him. Ha! what is that?"

"The roar of the train."

"Then time is short."

The horse and rider shot away down the country road like an arrow, or
a bird. On and on, with the speed of the wind, and yet the lightning
express made even greater speed than did the detective's horse.

With a roar and a rush the train swept past.

Too late!

Dyke Darrel drew rein at the depot just as the train swept madly away
on its course to the great city, and on the rear platform stood the
old man who had peered into the farm-house window but a short time
before.

It was an aggravating situation.

"You can use the telegraph," suggested the depot agent, when Darrel
unbosomed himself to him.

"Quick! Send word to the next station, and have the man detained."

The ticket agent went to his instrument and ticked off the desired