"I don't expect to," answered the hunter, who had introduced himself as Theodore Duncan. "But I have just purchased a new gun, and I wanted to try it. I expect to do considerable hunting this fall, and so I'm getting ready for it." "Do you live near here?" "Well, about ten miles away, on the other side of Lake Carlopa, but I am fond of long walks in the woods. If you ever get to Waterford I wish you'd come and see me, Mr. Swift. I have heard of your father." "I will, Mr. Duncan; but if I don't get something to repair my machine with I'm not likely to get anywhere right away." "Well, I wish I could help you, but I haven't the least ingenuity when it comes to machinery. Now if I could help you track down that tramp--" "Oh, no, thank you, I'd rather not have anything more to do with him." "If I caught sight of him now," resumed the hunter, "I fancy I could make him halt, and, perhaps, give you back the wire. I'm a pretty good shot, even if this is a new gun. I've been practicing at improvised targets all day." "No; the less I have to do with him, the better I shall like it," answered Tom, "though I'm much obliged to you. I'll manage somehow until I get to Pompville." He started off again, the hunter disappearing in the woods, whence the sound of his gun was again heard. "He's a queer chap," murmured Tom, "but I like him. Perhaps I may see him when I go to Waterford, if I ever do." Tom was destined to see the hunter again, at no distant time, and under strange circumstances. But now the lad's whole attention was taken up with the difficulty in which he found himself. Vainly musing on what object the tramp could have had in breaking off the wire, the young inventor trudged on. "I guess he was one of the gang after dad's invention," thought Tom, "and he must have wanted to hinder me from getting to Albany, though why I can't imagine." With a dubious shake of his head Tom proceeded. It was hard work pushing the heavy machine through the sand, and he was puffing before he had gone very far. "I certainly am up against it," he murmured. "But if I can get a bit of wire in Pompville I'll be all right. If I can't--" Just then Tom saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation of delight. "That's the very thing!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of it before?" Leaving his motor-cycle standing against a tree Tom hurried to a fence that separated the road from a field. The fence was a barbed-wire one, and in a moment Tom had found a broken strand. "Guess no one will care if I take a piece of this," he reasoned. "It will answer until I can get more. I'll have it in place in a jiffy!" It did not take long to get his pliers from his toolbag and snip off a piece of the wire. Untwisting it he took out the sharp barbs, and then was ready to attach it to the binding posts of the battery box and the spark plug.