it, who was again carrying the burden, began to show signs of distress,
and dropped behind his companion.

"I can't hold out much longer, Bill," he said, puffing laboriously.

Aaron Bickford heard these words, and they impelled him to extra
exertion. At last he caught up and grasped Kit by the collar.

"I've got ye at last!" he cried, triumphantly.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. BICKFORD'S DEFEAT.

Aaron Bickford was a strong man. By his work at the forge he had
strengthened his muscles till they were like iron. So was Kit a strong
boy, but it would be absurd to represent him as a match for the sturdy
blacksmith.

"I've got ye at last!" repeated Bickford tightening his grasp of Kit's
coat collar.

"Let go my collar!" cried Kit, not struggling, for he knew that it would
be useless.

"I'll let go your collar when I've got ye in the wagon," answered the
blacksmith, "and not till then. You, Bill, bring along his valise. I'll
take ye home in the wagon, though it would be only right if I let ye
walk."

"Mr. Bickford," said Kit, "you have no right to touch me. You have no
authority over me."

"I ain't, hey? Well, we'll argy that matter when we get home."

And he commenced dragging Kit in the direction of the wagon.

It certainly seemed as if Kit's plans were destined, if not for defeat,
to postponement. Unconditional surrender was his only choice against the
superior strength of Aaron Bickford. It was certainly very vexatious.

But help was nearer than he anticipated.

They were now within sight of the circus tents, and Kit, to his joy,
descried the giant, Achilles Henderson, taking a morning walk, and
already within hearing distance.

"Mr. Henderson!" he called out, eagerly.

"Who is that you're calling?" asked the blacksmith sharply.

Achilles heard, and instantly recognized the boy who had talked with him
at Smyrna.

It took but a few strides to bring him to the spot where Kit was held in
captivity.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"This man is dragging me away without authority," answered Kit.

"Who is he?" asked the giant.

"He is a blacksmith, and claims me as an apprentice, but I never agreed
to work for him."

"That's a lie," said the blacksmith, "he's my runaway apprentice."

"I would believe the boy sooner than you," said Achilles, not favorably
impressed by the blacksmith's bull dog look.

"It doesn't make any difference what you believe," said Bickford,
rudely; and he began to pull