Uncle John was well aware of that fact. If they had not allowed him to pass he could not have reached the house. That was what caused him to exhibit so much astonishment when his nephew first entered the office. He knew that the trail was watched, and he could not imagine how George had escaped capture. “George came on horseback, and they were looking for a boy on foot,” said Philip. “He is safe now, however. I have put them on his trail, and a few hours more will see him on the other side of the river.” “But what will become of Ned and Gus?” “I told the men not to trouble them.” “But they can never find their way without a guide.” “Haven’t they got a pair of tongues, and isn’t the trail as plain as daylight?” Uncle John settled back in his chair and fastened his eyes on the floor. He was silent for a long time, but finally he said: “I wish you hadn’t done it.” “It is too late to talk that way,” answered Philip, drumming with his fingers on the arms of his chair, and looking up at the ceiling. “You told me what you wanted done, and what you were willing to give, if it _was_ done, and I have tried my best to do it.” “If I had waited until to-night, I never should have said a word to you about it. Suppose it should become known among the neighbors!” “Now, how are the neighbors going to find it out? Who is going to tell them?” While this conversation, and much more like it, was going on, George was leading his companions rapidly across the plain, toward the trail which ran along the bank of the river, in the direction of Brownsville. He had brought upon himself the wrath of men who would have treated him roughly, if they could have overtaken him; had run away from his home like a thief in the night, and he had done it to save a boy whose father was at that very moment hearing and consenting to plans, which were intended to bring him into serious trouble. If George had known what we have just recorded, his after life would not have been what it was, and a good many thrilling scenes we have yet to describe, and of which he was the hero, never would have happened. It all came out after a while, and it came, too, in such shape that George was fully convinced that Mr. Gilbert was wiser than himself, and he wondered why he had not seen it before. Philip spent more than an hour in conversation with his employer, minutely describing all the events of the night, in which he had borne a part, and at last he arose to go. As he was about to leave the room, a most unexpected and alarming incident occurred. No sooner had he crossed the threshold, than he received a blow full in the face that would have felled an ox. It lifted him off his feet, sent him with crushing force against the wall, and doubled him up on the floor, all in a heap. “Set Greasers on the trail of a white boy, will ye?” exclaimed a voice. “Take that thar fur yer imperdence! Evenin’, Mr. Ackerman!”