Rob had not been at work many days for Deacon Cornhill before he found there a second-hand bicycle left by a nephew, and which Mrs. Cornhill, who was overcoming her prejudice for him, kindly loaned to Little Hickory. In the morning he found his wheel of considerable help to him, though in returning to his home he had to walk more than half the way. On this particular evening when Joe was so light-hearted and not a cloud had been discovered on the horizon of the young republic, Rob was climbing one of the long ascents leading to Break o’ Day, wheeling his bicycle along beside him as he slowly advanced. About midway in the ascent was that wild section of the route called “Flying Jump,” where the mountain road, after hanging for several rods on the very brink of a high precipice, took a sudden turn and descended with dizzy abruptness into a narrow, dark ravine, to rise on the other side with equal steepness. A small stream wound through the lonely valley, at places finding a difficult passage, so that at high water it would overflow the gorge to a considerable depth. Little Hickory always walked this portion of his route, and at this time he had barely reached the western summit, and was casting swift glances over his wild surroundings, when he was suddenly confronted by two masked men, who had stepped silently from the thicket overhanging the road. It was evident that they had been lying in wait for him, for, simultaneously with their appearance, both drew revolvers, and pointing the deadly weapons at Rob’s head, one of them cried out, in a sharp tone: “Throw up your hands, youngster, or yer life ain’t worth a dead rabbit’s hide!” Though taken completely by surprise, Little Hickory realized that he was at the mercy of these bold villains, and accordingly he did as he was bid, at the same time allowing his bicycle to rest against his body. “Good!” exclaimed the spokesman of the twain, “ye act like a sensible chap. It pays to know when ye’re knocked under. See what he carries in his pocket, Jed.” The waylayer addressed lowered his weapon and stepped forward to carry out the order of his companion, as he did so for a moment coming between his accomplice and the victim. It was Little Hickory’s golden opportunity. Quick as a flash he dealt the ruffians each a tremendous blow with his fists, sending them staggering back into the bushes, with exclamations of terror. He had barely accomplished this feat and was about to follow up his advantage by seizing their weapons and thus turning the tables upon them, when a pistol shot came from the growth and a bullet whistled so close to his head that it cut away a lock of hair! An oath followed the report of the weapon, when a hoarse voice cried out: “Quick, lads! nab the fool chap afore he gets away!” A crash in the bushes succeeded, another shot, and Little Hickory knew he was in the midst of enemies thirsting for his blood. CHAPTER XXI. A STARTLING PREDICAMENT.