ve this wallet on the grass?" asked one of the
men.

"I shouldn't forget it, for in that wallet is the order to eject and
capture one Ethan Allen, a rebel and traitor."

Every word was heard by Eben Pike.

"If I could get that wallet!" he thought; but it was kept pretty close
to the sheriff.

Eben crawled a little nearer, sheltered by the thick undergrowth of the
wood.

He cut a long stick and-held it ready to use if he should be
discovered, for he fancied they would not be very lenient with him if
he should be caught.

The sheriff and his posse sat talking, and telling of their deeds of
daring. Each one seemed to try to out-bid the other for bravery.

The conversation became animated, and a strange idea entered the
listener's head.

He crawled still nearer, taking care that he did not move far without
resting, so that he might be sure he was not observed.

He pushed his stick a little closer to the wallet, and found that he
only needed to be six inches nearer.

After a little more inaction he wriggled his body a few inches farther,
and then, quickly and almost silently, with his stick drew the wallet
toward him.

He secured it, and fastened it under his vest, the safest place he
could think of.

Backward he crawled, as noiselessly as possible, until he reached a
clump of sumach bushes. Then he rose to his feet and ran.

Eben was a child of nature, and, as Ira Allen had said, he would be
useful in carrying a message quickly.

He had been in the possession of the wallet less than five minutes when
the sheriff proposed that the journey should be continued.

He sprang to his feet, and looked for the wallet; he could not see it
in the long grass.

He felt in his pockets, but it was not there.

"I say, men, that isn't a fair joke."

"What isn't?"

"Who has the wallet?"

"Now, that's a good one! Who should have it but the sheriff?"

"Come, a joke's a joke, but don't carry it too far."

"What do you mean?"

"One of you has got the wallet, and the writs of dispossess are in it."

"I haven't."

"Neither have I."

"One of you must have got it."

"It's a lie!"

"Call me a liar?" asked the sheriff, of his deputies.

"If you say we have got the writs, yes."

The sheriff raised his musket club fashion, and would have brained the
speaker had not Isaac Gerston, one of the posse, caught his arm.

"Father Abraham!" he ejaculated, "are you mad? What if the wallet is
in the grass? Have you s