At the same instant the gun spoke, but the farmer went down in a heap, and his aim was spoiled.
"Had to do it to save some one of the fellows from carrying off a load of buckshot," muttered Rattleton, who was desperate.

"I don't want to see anybody shot to-night." He did not stop running, but he dashed straight up to the man, snatched up the gun, and fled onward.
"Hey! hey!" cried the man, as he scrambled to his feet.

"Consarn you! Drop that gun! Bring it back!" "Come get it!" invited Harry, with a defiant laugh.
The farmer started after the boy, who led him a merry chase across the fields and over the fences.

Harry kept just far enough ahead to lure the panting man on.
"If I ever git my hands on ye you'll go to jail!" declared the farmer.
"I'll learn you pesky rascals a lesson!" "Teach--not learn, uncle," Harry flung back.

"You should be more careful about your grammar." "I believe you are one of them consarned student fellers." "You are a wonderful guesser." "If I can't ketch ye I'll report ye." When he had lead the man far enough so that he was sure the other fellows had plenty of start, Harry tossed aside the gun, which was an old muzzle-loading, single-barreled affair.
The panting farmer stopped and picked up the gun, then he stood and shook his fist at Rattleton, who was speeding away like a deer.
"Oh, I'll report ye--I will, by jee!" he vowed over and over.
In the meantime Merriwell had had a most exciting adventure.