As a "pathfinder" should, he planned to take up the trail where he had lost it, but, before he reached Round Hill, he found a warmer trail.Before him, stamped clearly in the road still damp from the rain of the night before, two lines of little arrow-heads pointed the way.They were so fresh that at each twist in the road, lest the car should be just beyond him, Jimmie slackened his steps.After half a mile the scent grew hot.The tracks were deeper, the arrow-heads more clearly cut, and Jimmie broke into a run.Then, the arrow-heads swung suddenly to the right, and in a clearing at the edge of a wood, were lost.But the tires had pressed deep into the grass, and just inside the wood, he found the car.It was empty.Jimmie was drawn two ways.
Should he seek the spy on the nearest hilltop, or, until the owner returned, wait by the car.Between lying in ambush and action, Jimmie preferred action.But, he did not climb the hill nearest the car; he climbed the hill that overlooked that hill.
Flat on the ground, hidden in the golden-rod he lay motionless.
Before him, for fifteen miles stretched hills and tiny valleys.
Six miles away to his right rose the stone steeple, and the red roofs of Greenwich.Directly before him were no signs of habitation, only green forests, green fields, gray stone walls, and, where a road ran up-hill, a splash of white, that quivered in the heat.The storm of the night before had washed the air.
Each leaf stood by itself.Nothing stirred; and in the glare of the August sun every detail of the landscape was as distinct as those in a colored photograph; and as still.
In his excitement the scout was trembling.
"If he moves," he sighed happily, "I've got him!"Opposite, across a little valley was the hill at the base of which he had found the car.The slope toward him was bare, but the top was crowned with a thick wood; and along its crest, as though establishing an ancient boundary, ran a stone wall, moss-covered and wrapped in poison-ivy.In places, the branches of the trees, reaching out to the sun, overhung the wall and hid it in black shadows.Jimmie divided the hill into sectors.He began at the right, and slowly followed the wall.With his eyes he took it apart, stone by stone.Had a chipmunk raised his head, Jimmie would have seen him.So, when from the stone wall, like the reflection of the sun upon a window-pane, something flashed, Jimmie knew he had found his spy.A pair of binoculars had betrayed him.Jimmie now saw him clearly.He sat on the ground at the top of the hill opposite, in the deep shadow of an oak, his back against the stone wall.With the binoculars to his eyes he had leaned too far forward, and upon the glass the sun had flashed a warning.
Jimmie appreciated that his attack must be made from the rear.
Backward, like a crab he wriggled free of the golden-rod, and hidden by the contour of the hill, raced down it and into the woods on the hill opposite.When he came to within twenty feet of the oak beneath which he had seen the stranger, he stood erect, and as though avoiding a live wire, stepped on tip-toe to the wall.The stranger still sat against it.The binoculars hung from a cord around his neck.Across his knees was spread a map.He was marking it with a pencil, and as he worked, he hummed a tune.
Jimmie knelt, and resting the gun on the top of the wall, covered him.
"Throw up your hands!" he commanded.
The stranger did not start.Except that he raised his eyes he gave no sign that he had heard.His eyes stared across the little sun-filled valley.They were half closed as though in study, as though perplexed by some deep and intricate problem.They appeared to see beyond the sun-filled valley some place of greater moment, some place far distant.
Then the eyes smiled, and slowly, as though his neck were stiff, but still smiling, the stranger turned his head.When he saw the boy, his smile was swept away in waves of surprise, amazement, and disbelief.These were followed instantly by an expression of the most acute alarm."Don't point that thing at me!" shouted the stranger."Is it loaded?" With his cheek pressed to the stock and his eye squinted down the length of the brown barrel, Jimmie nodded.The stranger flung up his open palms.They accented his expression of amazed incredulity.He seemed to be exclaiming, "Can such things be?""Get up!" commanded Jimmie.
With alacrity the stranger rose.
"Walk over there," ordered the scout."Walk backward.Stop! Take off those field-glasses and throw them to me." Without removing his eyes from the gun the stranger lifted the binoculars from his neck and tossed them to the stone wall."See here!" he pleaded, "if you'll only point that damned blunderbuss the other way, you can have the glasses, and my watch, and clothes, and all my money; only don't--"Jimmie flushed crimson."You can't bribe me," he growled.At least, he tried to growl, but because his voice was changing, or because he was excited the growl ended in a high squeak.With mortification, Jimmie flushed a deeper crimson.But the stranger was not amused.At Jimmie's words he seemed rather the more amazed.
"I'm not trying to bribe you," he protested."If you don't want anything, why are you holding me up?""I'm not," returned Jimmie, "I'm arresting you!"The stranger laughed with relief.Again his eyes smiled."Oh," he cried, "I see! Have I been trespassing?"With a glance Jimmie measured the distance between himself and the stranger.Reassured, he lifted one leg after the other over the wall."If you try to rush me," he warned, "I'll shoot you full of buckshot."The stranger took a hasty step BACKWARD."Don't worry about that," he exclaimed."I'll not rush you.Why am I arrested?"Hugging the shotgun with his left arm, Jimmie stopped and lifted the binoculars.He gave them a swift glance, slung them over his shoulder, and again clutched his weapon.His expression was now stern and menacing.
