"I must return the horse in as good a condition as when I took him out," he told himself. "It wouldn't be fair to Mr. Larson if I didn't." Soon he reached the brook where he had stopped to obtain a drink. Here he paused as before. As he was bending to quench his thirst he heard a slight noise behind him. Then he received a violent push from the rear that sent him headlong into the stream. His head struck on the rocks at the bottom of the shallow watercourse, and for the time being he was partly stunned. CHAPTER III TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN AT HOME For several minutes Dale could think of nothing but that he was at the bottom of the brook and in danger of drowning. His head hurt, there was a strange ringing in his ears, and almost before he knew it he had gulped down a quantity of the cool water. But "self-preservation is the first law of nature," and even though dazed he floundered around and tried to pull himself up out of the stream. Twice he slipped back. Then his hand fastened on a tree root and he stuck there, gasping for breath, spluttering, and trying to collect his senses. "Who--who hit me?" he muttered at last. When he felt strong enough to do so, he crawled up the bank of the stream and sank in a heap at the foot of a big tree. On one side of his forehead was a big lump, and on the other a small cut from which the blood was flowing. "Just wait till I catch the fellow who did that," he told himself. "I'll square up with him." His mind reverted to Baptiste Ducrot. Had the French-Canadian been the one to attack him? It was more than likely. It was fully five minutes later when the young lumberman made another discovery. He was bathing the cut when, on glancing around, he noted that the horse he had been riding had disappeared. "Hullo, Jerry is gone," he said to himself. "Jerry! Jerry! Where are you?" he called. No sound came back in answer, nor did the animal put in an appearance. Staggering to his feet, Dale walked a short distance up and down the watercourse. It was useless; the horse could not be found. With a sinking heart the young lumberman was retracing his steps to the ford when he saw a form on horseback advancing along the trail. As the person came closer he recognized Owen Webb. "Owen!" "Why, Dale, is that you?" "Have you seen anything of my horse?" "Your horse? No. Didn't you ride him back?" "I rode him as far as here. Then somebody struck me and knocked me into the brook, and now the horse is gone," went on Dale. He told the particulars of the occurrence so far as they were clear to him. Owen Webb was of a sympathetic nature, and as he listened his face grew clouded. "It must have been Ducrot, Dale. It's just like the cowardly sneak. Didn't you see him at all?" "No. I was attacked so quickly I didn't know a thing until I was trying to pull myself out of the water. If he took the horse where do you suppose he went to?"