The action of Fitzgerald was so rapid and unexpected that Robert was unable to protect himself in any way. He fell, but mechanically, as he had seen trapeze performers do in the circus when falling, he held himself erect, with his hands at his sides, and dropped in that position into three feet of water at the bottom of the well. Fortunately for him the depth of the well was not great, about fifteen feet, and he sustained no injury to his limbs, the water, moreover, breaking the force of the descent.

Still, when unexpectedly he found himself at the bottom of the well, his situation was by no means pleasant.

"What could have induced Mr. Fitzgerald to push me in?" he asked himself in a bewildered way. "What possible object could he have in doing it?"

That his employer did push him he couldn't doubt, for he felt the push, which was a forcible one. Yet it seemed so causeless, so utterly without an object, that he was tempted to doubt the testimony of his senses. To the reader, of course, it is perfectly clear, but we have sources of information that Robert had not.

He was not a boy to give up, though it certainly looked hopeless to attempt to get out. Had the well been at the East it would have been walled in on all sides by rocks, but stones of any size are not numerous in many parts of the West, and this had originally been boarded, but some of the boards had disappeared.

"It isn't very deep," thought Robert, "but how in the world am I to get out?"

He made several attempts, but they were all futile. Things began to look serious, for the house was deserted, and probably very few persons came that way.

While in a state of painful anxiety he heard, faintly, a boy whistle. The sound became more distinct as if the boy were approaching, and hope was kindled in our hero's breast.

"If I could only attract his attention," he thought.

He shouted as loud as he could, but the sound was partially lost before it reached the surface of the well. Still it attracted the attention of Fred Lathrop, the boy who was whistling, who stopped to listen.

"Where did that sound come from?" he thought.

It was repeated, and this time he could distinguish the word "Help!"

"By gracious, it comes from the well!" he said to himself. "Who can be down there?"

He drew near and looked down. It was darker near the bottom, but he could descry Robert, who was looking up.

"Who's there?" asked Fred.

"It's I—a boy. Help me up!"

"How did you get down there?"

"Help me out and I'll tell you."

"I don't see how I am to do it," said Fred, after a pause.

"Isn't there a rope round about there somewhere?"

"The old well-rope used to be coiled up in a corner of the house; I don't know whether it's there now."

"Look—will you?"

Fred needed no second request. He went to the house and was fortunate enough to find the rope. He brought it with him to the edge of the well.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed.

"Throw one end to me."

This was done.

"Now, do you think you can pull hard enough to draw me out? I will help myself with my feet."

"I am afraid I'm not strong enough."

"Suppose you try," said Robert, who didn't like to give up the hope of an immediate escape.

"Stop, there's my brother-in-law coming across the fields," said Fred, eagerly. "He will help me."

"Mr. Davis!" he cried, "come here and help me."

"What are you up to, Fred?" inquired the young man addressed. "Are you fishing in the well?"

"Yes; I am fishing—for a boy," responded Fred.

"Are you gone crazy?"

"No; come here and look for yourself."

Davis did so, and was sensible enough to understand, though very much surprised, that it would be best to postpone his inquiries till the boy was rescued.

"Give me hold of the rope!" he said. "Now, you boy down there, can you give a good, firm grip?"

"Try me and see."

"If you let it slip through your fingers you will fall back and hurt yourself."

"I won't let it slip. Keep firm hold yourself."

It was not altogether an easy task, and Robert was rubbed unpleasantly against the sides of the well; but at length victory crowned the efforts of the three, and our hero, his clothes looking none the better for his immersion in the water, and his contact with the sides of the well gave him a decided tramp-like appearance.

"Well, here you are!" said Mr. Davis. "How did you get into the well? Did you fall in?"

"I was pushed in," answered Robert.

"Pushed in!" repeated Fred and his brother-in-law in concert.

"Yes."

"Who pushed you in?"

"My employer—the man I was travelling with."

"What made him do it?"

"That is more than I can tell."

"Was he angry with you?"

"There had been no quarrel nor disagreement, and I supposed we were excellent friends."

"I wouldn't fancy such a friend," said Fred, dryly.

"The man must have had some motive," said Mr. Davis, who was a young lawyer.

"I can't think of any. I think he may have been insane," said Robert, to whom this had occurred as a possible solution of the problem.

"How long had you been with him?"

"Only about a week. He proposed to me to take a walk this morning, and brought me here."

"Your clothes look the worse for the fall," said Fred.

"Yes, I look like a tramp," answered Robert, glancing down at his wet and muddy clothes with disgust. "I've got another suit at the hotel, unless Mr. Fitzgerald has carried off my valise. I don't much like going back there in this trim."

"You needn't," said Fred. "Come home with me. You are about my size; I will lend you one of my suits, while yours is being cleansed and dried."

"Thank you!" said Robert, relieved; "you are very kind. And what will your mother say when she sees you bringing such a looking tramp home with you?"

"Don't trouble yourself about that," said Fred. "Mother will understand it. She'll see that even if you do look like a tramp you're not a professional."

"That's just what I am," responded Robert, smiling. "I am a professional—circus rider."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Fred, with something of interest. "Are you a bareback rider?"

"Yes."

"We've got a horse in the barn. Won't you try riding on him?"

"Oh, the horse has to be trained as well as the rider: I can't perform on a horse that has never been in the ring."

"Then how did you happen to be with this man that served you such a trick?"

Robert explained.

Quarter of an hour's walk brought them to a substantial farm-house occupied by Fred's family. He introduced Robert to his mother—a pleasant-faced lady, who received our hero cordially, especially after she had been informed of the manner in which he had been treated by his employer.

Fred took Robert up to his own bedroom, where he placed one of his own suits at his disposal. The soiled suit was taken down-stairs, where it was first dried by the fire and afterwards brushed clean till it once more assumed the respectable look which rightfully belonged to it.

Meanwhile Fred went round to the hotel to ascertain whether Fitzgerald had made his appearance.

He ascertained that he had returned and reported that the boy had gone on to the next town, where he was to join him. He paid the bill of both, took both valises and drove to the nearest railway station.

"He's taken French leave!" said Fred. "He evidently never expects to see you again."

"He may be disappointed in that," said Robert, quietly; "I may appear to him when he least expects it. I intend to find out if I can what was his object in throwing me into the well."

"That's where I'm with you!" said Fred. "I wouldn't let him go unpunished for such an outrage."

When Robert came to reflect upon his situation, however, he felt embarrassed. His bills, of course, had been paid by Fitzgerald, and he had not yet received any wages. The consequence was, that while he was nearly two thousand miles distant from his starting-point, he had but a dollar and a half in his pocket. He might, to be sure, write to Dr. Grey for a portion of his savings, but it would take some time for the remittance to arrive.