d a youth who
was piling up some lumber. "He ast me fer a match. Say! he looked like
he could have been your twin," he added in wonder; and then continued
suddenly: "Maybe youse is playin' a trick on me, and it was youse got
the match?"

"No, I never met you before," answered Dave, quickly. "When did you
meet the other fellow, and where? I am very anxious to locate him."

"It was down on de bridge, about an hour ago. I was comin' dis way,
and he was goin' de udder way."

"Was he smoking a cigarette?" asked Roger.

"He had one o' de coffin-nails in his hand and he lit up after I given
him de match."

"Did he say anything?" questioned our hero.

The carpenter's helper scratched his head for a moment. "Sure he did!
He ast me if it was putty good walkin' to Bixter. I told him 'putty
fair,' and den he went on and I came here."

"Then he must have gone on to Bixter!" cried Roger. "How far is that
from here?"

"About two miles and a half," answered Dave. He turned to the
carpenter's helper. "Much obliged to you."

"Dat's all right. Say! but dat guy certainly looks like you," the
carpenter's helper added, with a grin.

"Come, we'll follow him," said Dave to his chum, and led the way on
the run to where the horse was tied.

Soon they were in the cutter once more. Dave urged the black along at
his best speed, and over the bridge they flew, and then along the road
leading to the village of Bixter.

CHAPTER VII

FACE TO FACE

"If you catch Porton, Dave, what will you do--turn him over to the
authorities?"

"Yes, Roger."

"Is Bixter much of a place?"

"Oh, no. There are but two stores and two churches and not over thirty
or forty houses."

"Then you may have some trouble in finding an officer. Probably the
village doesn't boast of anything more than a constable and a Justice
of the Peace."

"I am not worrying about that yet, Roger," returned our hero, grimly.
"We have got to catch Porton first."

"Oh, I know that. But if he started for Bixter on foot we ought to be
able to locate him. A stranger can't go through such a small place
without somebody's noticing it."

On and on trotted the horse, past many well-kept farms, and then
through a small patch of timber land. Beyond the woods they crossed a
frozen creek, and then made a turn to the northward. A short distance
beyond they came in sight of the first houses that went to make up
the village of Bixter.

"Well, we've not seen anything of him