to-day, into what has been called the Cathedral Wood. Cheeseboro followed closely, and after a few rods both horses emerged into a little clearing with a spring welling up in the middle. Lightfoot, thirsty with her long journey, whinnied approvingly, and, snatching the rein from her master's hand, made a push for the water and thrust her muzzle into it.
"It's like your willfulness," exclaimed Cheeseboro, reaching far over his saddle for the bridle just slipping into the water.
The defenseless posture was too great a temptation to the robber, and, pushing his own horse close behind that of his victim, he aimed a terrific blow at that lowered head with the loaded stock of his riding whip. Some slight sound, some subtle instinct, warned Samuel Cheeseboro of a danger that might well have been his last, and with a sudden start he swerved from the blow, which fell, indeed, but upon the shoulder of the mare, who, with a wild cry of terror and pain, wheeled in her tracks and flew again through the narrow path into the open road, the bridle trailing around her knees.
With a furious oath the robber gathered up his reins and started in pursuit, but as his horse flew through the thicket bridle path, and emerged into the main road, he came into violent collision with the sober steed of an elderly gentleman, jogging quietly along the road from Plymouth to Duxbury.
Now, this quiet, elderly gentleman was none other than Major William Bradford, eldest son of
