They were ten miles from the nearest railroad, and the train service, when they did strike a road, was decidedly poor in that out-of-the-way locality. Still, by good luck, quick work and prompt connections, Batchelor would be able to reach Boston late that afternoon or evening and New York before ten A.M., Saturday morning, and at ten A.M. Saturday the last fight was to be fought, the last stand made. Without their brilliant young leader, the opponents to the cotton ring would be outnumbered and outclassed, hopelessly beaten. Bartlett’s fighting blood was up at the thought. Was he to have his week spoiled by the worthless Alphonse’s deviltry? Batchelor should not run the slightest chance of reaching Boston that day, if he could help it. Henrietta had a little money in her bag that would tide them over. Better avoid anything to do with telegraph and telephones as long as possible. They could make an attempt to reach Harrison and get lost. But getting lost wasn’t as easy as it appeared, when the general was along, thoroughly determined not to get lost. Bartlett’s thoughts were broken in on by the Watermelon in a way that caused him quick alarm. The young man had at last awakened to the gravity of the situation, as Bartlett had been expecting him to do ever since the trip began. "We had better telephone," said the Watermelon, "as Parker says. We can telephone for money and have it sent to Harrison, and we can ride to Harrison and probably get there the same time as the money does and get the train for Boston. It’s time we were back in New York, anyway." The trip was ended and the sooner he left Billy the better. He could give them the slip at Harrison and once more hit the road. "Telephoning from here won’t help matters at all," objected Bartlett, fighting for that opportunity to get lost again, just for one more day—twelve hours would be enough. "We can drive to Harrison and telegraph from there. It is only a ten-mile drive. We can make it in fifteen minutes." "No joy-riding," warned Henrietta, "when we haven’t any money to pay the fines. I don’t want to do my time in the workhouse." "We will do it in twenty minutes, then," laughed Bartlett, who saw another way to create a delay that might be used with advantage. The Parkers scorned to accept the few dollars Henrietta still had in the dark recesses of her bag. "You can send it to us," said they, and the farmer added, heaping coals of fire on the general’s unfortunate head, "We trust you perfectly." The Watermelon looked sharply at Bartlett and wondered if he were up to any tricks. The Watermelon had only ten more miles of Billy and he didn’t want to shorten the precious time by a confession if there were no need for one. "Let’s hurry," said he. There was no need of prolonging the misery in the thought of the parting. "Worrying over his affairs," thought Bartlett. "He has come to at last."