"But you are not strong enough to take the trail. Stay with me." He interrupted her with: "Nell, I never felt stronger in my life. I mean to put the bracelets on the villain's wrists with my own hands." "Dyke, leave it to me," urged Harry Bernard. But the detective's blood was up, and he would listen to no one. He was determined to be in at the death, and for the time his old strength seemed coursing in his veins. He hastened from the house, and ascertaining that a horse was in the barn, he at once sprang to the animal's back. "You are unarmed?" said Bernard. "Yes, but--" "Take this; I will quickly follow," and the young man thrust a revolver into the hand of Dyke Darrel. "Do nothing rash until help 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 information. A little later came the reply: "No such person on the train." A malediction fell from the detective's lips. Was his enemy to thus outwit him always? CHAPTER XXIX. RETRIBUTION. A tall, handsome man of middle-age stood picking his teeth with a jaunty air beside the desk of a down-town boarding-house, when his occupation, if such we may call it, was interrupted by a touch on his arm. Looking down, the gentleman saw a small, ragged urchin standing near. "It is yourn--10 cents, please." The boy held out a yellow envelope, on which was scrawled the name "Harper Elliston." The gentleman dropped the required bit of silver into the boy's hand with the air of a king, and then tore open the envelope. "MR. ELLISTON: Meet me at Room 14, Number 388 Blank street, at seven this evening, SHARP. Business of importance. "B."