fully arranged with his
treacherous companion.

"Open his jacket; try the inside pocket," cried one; and he felt hands
fumbling about him. Then there was a disappointed exclamation.
"Check-book; that's no good!"

The farmer made a last determined effort. After having long ruled his
household and hired men as a benevolent but decidedly firm-handed
autocrat, it was singularly galling to be treated in this unceremonious
fashion, and if he could only shake off the hat and get a glimpse of
his assailants he would know them again. Moreover, he had brought a
roll of bills with him, in case he should make some small purchases.
He was, however, held firmly, and the hands he had felt dived into
another pocket.

"Got it now!" cried a hoarse voice. "Here's his wallet; seems to have
a good wad in it!"

Grant, though he was generally sternly collected, boiled with fury. He
felt no fear, but an uncontrollable longing to grapple with the men who
had so humiliated him.

"Guess, I'll fix you up!" came an angry voice when Grant managed to
fling off one pair of hands.

Then he received a heavy blow on the head. Somebody had struck him
with the butt of a whip or riding quirt. The pain was distressing; he
felt dazed and stupid, disinclined to move, but he retained
consciousness. There were sounds to which he could attach a meaning: a
rattle of harness which indicated that his driving team was being
loosened, a thud of hoofs as the heavier Percherons were led away. In
the meanwhile he could still feel a strong grasp on his shoulder,
holding him down, and once or twice a man near him gave the others
sharp instructions. Grant made a languid effort to fix the voice in
his memory, but this was difficult because his mind worked heavily.

At length the driving team was unyoked--he could hear it being led
away--but the ache in his head grew almost intolerable and his
lassitude more intense. For a while he had no idea what was going on;
and then a hoarse cry, which seemed one of alarm, rang out sharply.
There was a patter of running feet, a thud of hoofs on the soft soil,
and, breaking through these sounds, a rhythmic staccato drumming.
Somebody was riding hard across the uneven ground.

Gathering his languid senses, Grant suddenly moved his head, flinging
the hat from his face, and raised himself a little, leaning on one
elbow. There was no longer anybody near him, but he could see a man
riding past a shadowy clump of trees a