There was only one clear course for the fugitive to take. This lay across the crest of the hill right up to where Phil had secreted himself. There a shallow ravine, all choked up with bushes, cut the landscape. The fugitive might here run down the slant which Phil had just ascended, or he might continue along the plateau, and, passing near to the Bram farmhouse, come out on the regularly-used country road. Phil posed so as to be ready for prompt and decisive action the instant the fugitive neared him. The latter was a splendid runner, and he easily outdistanced Andy. For all that, however, he did not let up on his rapid rate of speed. He came on, panting heavily, and as he neared the tree stump made a movement that showed to Phil that he was going to cut to the left. As he did so, he cast a quick glance backwards to ascertain the nearness of his pursuer. That was Phil's chance. He arose erect as if on springs and with a swift glide ran right into the path of the fugitive. The latter, turning his head forward again, did not have time to dodge aside. He ran squarely into Phil's outstretched arms, and the Boston boy grappled with him. "Got you!" said Phil. "Look here--" Thump! The force of the collision sent both of the boys flat to the hard, frozen ground. At first Phil was under. Then a brief roll direct to the edge of the ravine brought him uppermost. He threw the arms of his captive outspread, holding them firmly pinioned in that position, and stared keenly into his face. "Let me go," panted the fugitive. "You have no right--" "Why," fairly shouted Phil. For the first time at Concord this close to the mysterious youth, memory and recognition flashed vividly amongst his varied thoughts. "I know you now. I remember you perfectly." The boy under him uttered a desperate cry. He was like some hunted, trapped animal. "Let me loose," he cried, "let me loose, I say!" "You're the fellow we snow-balled for carrying water into the British camp," declared Phil, in an excited tone. "You're the Tory boy of Boston Common!" "Suppose I am?" fairly shouted the boy, quivering all over with emotion. "You're not my master. Let me go--I'm no Tory. Let go, I say! That other fellow is coming. I'm as good a patriot as you. It's dangerous for me to be around here. I won't be held down this way!" "No you don't!" said Phil, tightening his grip as his fugitive writhed, uttering incoherent words and gasps. "Yes I do!" "Whew!" cried Phil "you've done it, I declare. The mischief!" His captive had speedily turned the tables. Massing all his strength, which Phil suddenly learned was of no mean quality, the fugitive had wriggled hard, twisting his arm with a maneuver that made Phil's wrists fairly crack. Then, slipping from under, as Phil from sheer pain relaxed his grip, the boy gave him a push and sent him over the ravine headlong.