ed, Grit was in no amiable frame of mind. He consented to be led
along because he recognized his old leash, and the man leading him had
the familiar smell of horses, which Grit loved so well. The dog was a
little suspicious, but once before Dick had sent a stranger for him and
the man had smelled of horses, so Grit, though he had grave doubts, was
willing to go along. But he was getting anxious to see his master, as
his uneasy growls from time to time indicated, to the no small alarm of
the somewhat ragged youth leading him.

"Easy now, old boy," he said. "That's a good dorg. We'll soon be there,"
he added, as he cast an uneasy look around. "The wagon must be waiting
somewheres about here."

He cut through a little clump of trees and emerged upon an unfrequented
road that led to Leonardville, a distant settlement.

"There's the rig!" he exclaimed, as he caught sight of a wagon and a
horse hitched to the fence. "The worst of it's over."

"Did you get 'im?" asked a man in the wagon.

"Yep, an' I'll be glad to git rid of 'im. He's a little too anxious to
see what my legs is made of."

Grit was led toward the wagon. He seemed to think something was not just
right, for he growled menacingly and hung back.

"Hold 'im a minute now, until I git the bag," ordered the man in the
wagon, and, as the ragged youth did so, the man suddenly threw a big
sack over Grit's head. Then, hastily wrapping him up in it and tying
several turns of rope about it, the sack and dog were tossed into the
wagon.

"Quick's the word!" exclaimed the man, as he and the youth got up on the
seat and drove off. "Now to get our share of the reward. I hope that
young feller what put up this job knows what he's about."

Poor Grit, whining and growling alternately in the bottom of the wagon,
tried to work the suffocating bag off his head, but it was too tightly
fastened.

The mail the next day brought Dick a badly-written and worse-spelled
missive, in which it was stated that if he wanted Grit returned he could
have him by paying two hundred dollars' reward. No names were signed,
and the handwriting was unfamiliar.

"I told you so," said Mr. Hamilton. "But who's got him?"

"The letter doesn't say. I'm to leave two hundred dollars to-night under
a flat stone, near the stump just where the county road crosses
Butternut Creek. Then, the letter says, the dog will be back at the
stables to-morrow morning."

"Well," remarked Mr. Hamilton, "that's a hund