to have brought some. I'll have to push this machine until I get to town, or else go back home."
The young inventor looked up and down the lonely road, undecided what to do. To return home meant that he would be delayed in getting to Albany, for he would lose a day. If he pushed on to Pompville ha might be able to get a bit of wire there.
Tom decided that was his best plan, and plodded on through the thick sand. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, every step seeming harder than the preceding one, when he heard, from the woods close at his left hand, a gun fired. He jumped so that he nearly let the motor-cycle fall over, for a wild idea came into his bead that the tramp had shot at him. With a quickly-beating heart the lad looked about him.
"I wonder if that was Happy Harry?" he mused.
There was a crackling in the bushes and Tom, wondering what he might do to protect himself, looked toward the place whence the noise proceeded. A moment later a hunter stepped into view. The man carried a gun and wore a canvas suit, a belt about his waist being filled with cartridges.
"Hello!" he exclaimed pleasantly. Then, seeing a look of alarm on the lad's face, he went on:
