"Good evening, Mr. Hinman!" called Dick softly.
The old man started, affrighted.
"Who—-who calls?" he quavered.
"One of the boys you talked with, this noon."
"Where are you?"
"Here," answered Dick, throwing his blanket aside, rising and stepping toward the old man, who, more bent than ever, was shaking as though from fright. "Don't be afraid of us, sir. Can we help you in anything?"
"I am afraid not," replied the peddler, then leaned against a tree-trunk, staring, as he tried to stifle his sobs.
"What has happened, sir?" asked Tom Reade, also stepping forward.
"I've been robbed!" replied the old man, in a broken voice.
"Robbed?" repeated Dick. "Do you mean that some villains have stolen the goods from your wagon?"
"No, no!" replied the old man, with sudden, unlooked for vehemence."I've been robbed, I tell you—-my money stolen!"
"Money?" asked Tom in surprise. "How much was taken from you?"
"Four hundred and eighteen dollars," replied the old man, with a lack of reserve that testified to his confidence in these unknown but respectful and sympathetic high school boys.
"All that money?" cried Dick. "How did you ever come to have so much about you?"
"I owe some bills for goods, over at Hillsboro," replied ReubenHinman, "and this trip was to take me toward Hillsboro. But now——-"
He broke off, the strange, rending sobbing returning.
"Perhaps we can help you, bad as the case looks," Tom suggested."Try to tell us all about it, sir."
"Where did you have the money?" inquired Dick.
"In a wallet, in this inside coat pocket," replied the peddler, holding his frayed coat open at the right side.
"You carried your wallet as conspicuously as that when traveling over lonely country roads?" cried Prescott in amazement.
"I had a lot of letters and papers in front of the wallet, so that no one would suspect that I had the wallet or the money," explained Reuben Hinman.
"I don't see any papers there now," Tom interposed.
"They're gone," replied Mr. Hinman. "Probably the thief thought the papers valuable, also, but they weren't.——-"
"You were robbed—-when?" asked Dick.
"When I was sleeping."
"At some farm house?" Reade inquired.
"No; I slept on a pile of old rags that I had taken in trade."
"In the wagon?——-" from Prescott.
"Yes."
"But why did you sleep in the wagon? And where did you have the wagon?" Dick pressed.
"The wagon was off the road, two miles below here," the peddler explained brokenly. "It would cost me fifty cents for a bed at a farm house, so, when the night is fine, I sleep outdoors on the wagon and save the money. It's cheaper with the horse, too, as I have to pay only for his feed."
"But the money?" Tom pressed the old man. Reuben Hinman groaned, but did not take to sobbing again.
"I woke up to-night, and found it gone," he answered.
"Did you feel or hear anyone prowling about, or searching your clothing?"
"No; if I had discovered anyone robbing me," shivered the peddler,"I would have caught and held on to him. I have strong hands.I have strong hands. Do you see?"
Holding up his wiry, claw-like hands, the old peddler worked the fingers convulsively.
"Then how do you know you were robbed, Mr. Hinman?" Dick insisted.
"Because the money is gone," replied the old man simply.
"You searched the rags, and the surrounding parts of your wagon?"Reade asked.
"Young man, you may be sure that I did."
"And where were you going when we stopped you?"
"For help."
"Whose help?" Dick inquired.
"I don't know," replied the old man blankly. "Perhaps to a lawyer."
"Lawyers don't recover stolen property," rejoined Reade.
"Perhaps not," assented the peddler. "The people whom you should see are the local officers," Dick assured the old man. "Probably they couldn't recover your money, though, since you have no idea who robbed you."
Reuben Hinman groaned helplessly. It was plain to the two high school boys that the peddler had started out, thus, in the middle of the night simply because his misery was too great to permit of inaction on his part.
"I wish we could help you," Prescott went on earnestly.
"Why can't you?" eagerly demanded the peddler, as one who clutches at the frailest straw.
"Call Dave, Tom. Try not to wake the others," murmured Dick.Then, while Reade was gone, Prescott asked:
"Mr. Hinman, why on earth didn't you keep your money in a bank, and then pay by check?"
"No, no, no! No banks for me!" cried the old man tremulously.
"Are you afraid to trust banks with your money?" demanded Dick incredulously.
"No, no! It isn't that," protested the peddler confusedly. "The banks are all right, and honest men run them. But——-"
Whatever was in his mind he checked himself. It was as though he had been on the verge of uttering words that must not be spoken.
Dick Prescott found himself obliged to turn his eyes away. It was altogether too pitiful, the look in old Reuben Hinman's shriveled face. In his misery the small, stooped peddler looked still smaller and more bent.
Tom soon came along, carrying a lantern and followed by Dave, the latter yawning every step of the way.
"Now, which way are we going to look first?" Reade inquired.
"I've been thinking that over," Dick replied. "It seems to me that the sanest course will be to start right at the scene of the robbery. From there we may get a clue that we can follow somewhere."
"Yes, that's as good a course as any," nodded Darrin, who had received some of the particulars of the affair from Reade.
So the three high school boys started off down the road together, old Reuben Hinman trudging tirelessly along with them, acting like a man in a trance.
At last they came to the old, red wagon. The tethered horse, disturbed, rose to its feet.
"Now, the rest of you keep away," requested young Prescott, "untilI've had time to look all around the wagon with the lantern.I want to see if I can discover any footprints that will help."
For a considerable radius around the wagon the high school athlete scanned the ground. He could find no footprints, other than those of Reuben Hinman, and the fresher ones made by himself.
"Nothing doing in the footprint line, boys," Dick called at last."Now, come along and we'll search the wagon."
"Let me have the first chance," begged Dave, taking the lantern.
Reuben Hinman showed where he had slept on the pile of rags, but this was hardly necessary, the impression made by his slight body being still visible.
Dave began to rummage. At last he got down into the body of the wagon. With the rays of the lantern thus concealed, the other three stood in darkness.
"Hooray!" gasped Dave at last. Then rising, leaning over the side of the wagon, he called:
"Mr. Hinman, I've found a wallet, with a lot of greenbacks inside. How much I don't know. Please count it and see if all the money is there intact."
With an inarticulate cry the old peddler seized the wallet that was handed down to him. He shook like a leaf as Tom held the lantern for him to count the money. Now that the strain was over, Mr. Hinman's legs became suddenly too weak to support him. He sank to the ground, Tom squatting close so that the lantern's rays would fall where they would be most useful. Thus the old peddler counted his money with trembling fingers.
"Where did you find the wallet?" young Prescott asked Darrin.
"Up against the side of the wagon, under a partly tilted, upsidedown feed-pail," Dave answered. "I can understand why Mr. Hinman didn't find it. He was too much upset—-too nervous, and it certainly didn't look like a likely place."
"It must have fallen out of his pocket as he slept," Prescott guessed correctly. "Did you find any papers down there on the floor of the wagon?"
"Yes; some sort of paper stuff," nodded Dave. "I took it for rubbish."
"The money is all here!" cried the old peddler, in a frenzy of joy. "Oh, how can I thank you young men? You don't know what your blessed help means for me!"
"Was it all the money you had?" Dick asked feelingly.
"Yes; all except for few loose dollars that I have in a little sack in my trousers pocket," replied Mr. Hinman.
"Then it was all you had in the world, outside of your peddling stock and your horse and cart?" Prescott continued.
"All except a little house and barn that I own, and the small piece of ground they stand on," said the peddler. "If I had not found my money I would have been obliged to mortgage my little home to a bank—-and then I am afraid I could not have repaid the bank, and my home would be taken from me."
"But you would have found the money in the wagon some day soon," suggested Dick.
"Perhaps," replied the peddler. "Who knows? Perhaps someone else would have rummaged the wagon and found it before I did. Oh! It might have been taken a little while ago, even when I was toiling down the road, or talking with you boys at your camp!" he added, with a sudden wave of fright over the thought.
"One thing is certain, anyhow, Mr. Hinman," Dick concluded. "Someone may have overheard you talking with us about this money. You will hardly be safe here. I urge you to come to our camp, and there spend the night with boys who know how to take care of themselves, and who can look after you at need. You will not be attacked in our camp."
Reuben Hinman eagerly agreeing, Dave harnessed the bony horse into the wagon. After a while the red wagon rested within the confines of the camp of Dick & Co.
In the bright light of the morning, Harry Hazelton was the first to be astir. He saw Prescott asleep on the floor of the tent, rolled up in a blanket, while another blanket rested on Dick's cot, brought back to the tent, as though some stranger had slept there.
Outside, attached to the seat of their camp wagon, Hazy found a note that mystified him a good deal at first. It read:
"The sun is now well up. I shall go at once to Hillsboro, and then my great worry will be over. Boys, you will ever be remembered in the prayers of R.H."
"Now, that's mighty nice of R.H., whoever he is," smiled Harry Hazelton, not immediately connecting the initials with the name of the little, old peddler.
Nor was it until Prescott and Reade were astir that Harry was fully enlightened as to the meaning of the words scrawled in pencil on the sheet of paper.
"You boys call me Hazy, and I must look and act the part," laughed Hazelton shamefacedly, "when we can have such an invasion of the camp, and such an early get-away with a loaded wagon, and all without my stirring."
Reuben Hinman was on his way, and, all unknown to himself nearer the hour when he would meet the high, school boys under vastly more exciting circumstances.
"Let's get the tent down, fellows," Dick called. "Greg is loading the bedding on to the wagon now."
"Haven't, you forgotten something?" Danny Grin asked.
"What?" challenged Dick smilingly.
"Well, a little thing like breakfast, for instance?"
"We don't get that until after we've had our swim," Prescott rejoined cheerily.
"I suppose that's all right," observed Tom, his jaw dropping. "Still, in that case, Mr. Trainer, why didn't you camp nearer to a stream?"
"The nearest stream fit for swimming is two miles from here,"Dick replied. "At least, that's what I judge from the map."
"There's the creek the bull-heads came from," suggested Hazelton hopefully. "That's close at hand."
"I know it is," Dick replied, "but I've had a look at it. That creek is both shallow and muddy. No sort of place for swimming."
One thing these Gridley High School boys had learned in the football squad, and that was discipline. So, though there were some gloomy looks, all remembered that Dick had been chosen trainer during the hike, and that his word, in training matters, was to be their law. So the tent came down, in pretty nearly record time, and was loaded on the wagon. The horse was harnessed, also without breakfast, and the party started down the road with Harry Hazelton holding the reins.
"I hope it's a short two miles," growled Reade to Darrin.
"Humph! A fine Indian you'd make, Tom!" jibed Dave. "An Indian is trained in being hungry. It's a part of the work that he has to undergo before he is allowed to be one of the men of the tribe."
"That's just the trouble with me," Tom admitted. "I've never been trained to be an Indian, and I am inclined to think that it requires training, and a lot of it."
Outwardly Tom didn't "grump" any, but he made a resolve that, hereafter, his voice would be strong for halting right on the bank of a swimming place.
"Can't we hit up the pace a bit?" asked Tom.
"Yes," nodded Dick. "All who want to travel fast can hike right ahead. Just keep on the main road."
Tom, Greg and Dan immediately forged ahead, taking long, rapid steps.
"But don't go in the water until we come up," Dick called after them. "Remember, the morning is hot, and you'll be too overheated to go in at once."
"Eh?" muttered Tom, with a sidelong look at his two fast-time companions. "Humph!"
Then they fell back with the wagon again.
"There doesn't seem to be any way to beat the clock to breakfast," observed Dan, after he had walked several rods down the road.
"I've talked with old soldiers," Dick went on, "who have told me all sorts of tales of war time, about the commissary train not catching up with the fighting line for four days at a stretch. Yet here you fellows feel almost ill if you have to put off breakfast half an hour. What kind of men would you boys make if it came to the stern part of life?"
"If going without breakfast is part of the making of a man," saidDanny Grin solemnly, "then I'd rather be a child some more."
"You always will be a child," Dave observed dryly. "Birthdays won't make any great difference in your real age, Danny boy."
"After that kind of a roast," grinned Reade, "I believe I'll take a reef in a few of the bitter things I was about to say."
Dick laughed pleasantly. Somehow, with the walk, all soon began to feel better. That first fainting, yearning desire for food was beginning to pass.
"Do you know what the greatest trouble is with the American people?" asked Dick, after they had covered a mile.
"I don't," Tom admitted. "Do you, Dick?"
"I've been forming an idea," Prescott went on. "Our fault, ifI can gather it rightly from what I've been reading, is that weAmericans are inclined to be too babyish."
"Tell that to the countries we've been at war with in the past," jeered Tom Reade.
"Oh, I guess it's a different breed of Americans that we send to the front in war time," Prescott continued. "But, take you fellows; some of you have been almost kicking because breakfast is put off a bit. Most Americans are like that. Yet, it isn't because we have such healthy stomachs, either, for foreigners know us as a race of dyspeptics. Take a bit of cold weather in winter—-really cold, biting weather and just notice how Americans kick and worry about it. Take any time when we have a succession of rainy days, and notice how Americans growl over the continued wet. Whatever happens that is in the least disagreeable, see what a row we Americans raise about it."
"I imagine it's a nervous vent for the race," advanced Dave Darrin.
"But why must Americans have a nervous vent?" Dick inquired."In other words, what business have we with diseased nerves!Don't you imagine that all our kicking, many times every day ofour lives, makes the need of nervous vent more and more pronounced?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," argued Tom. "I hate to hear any fellow talk disparagingly about his own country or its people. It doesn't sound just right. In war time, or during any great national disaster or calamity, the Americans who do things always seem to rise to the occasion. We're a truly great people, all right. But I don't make that claim because I consider myself ever likely to be one of the great ones."
"Why are we a great people?" pursued Prescott.
"We are the richest nation in the world," argued Reade. "That must show that we are people capable of making great successes."
"Is our greatness due to ourselves, or to the fact that the United States embraces the greatest natural resources in the world?" demanded Dick Prescott.
"It's partly due to the people, and partly due to the resources of the country," Dave contended.
Dick kept them arguing. Harry Hazelton, as driver, remained silent, but the others argued against Dick, trying to overthrow all his disparaging utterances against the American people.
Finally Reade grew warm, indeed.
"Cut it out, Dick—-do!" he urged. "This doesn't really sound like you. I hate to hear a fellow go on running down his own countrymen. I tell you, it isn't patriotic."
"But just stop to consider this point," Prescott urged, and started on a new, cynical line of argument.
"I still contend that we're the greatest people on earth," Reade insisted almost angrily. "We ought to be, anyway, for Americans don't come of any one line of stock. We're descended from pioneers—-the pick and cream of all the peoples of Europe."
But Dick kept up his line of discussion until they came to the river for which he had headed them. They followed the winding stream into the woods where the trees partially hid them from the observation of passers-by on the road, From this point they could easily keep a watch on the wagon while in the water.
"Now, let's sit down and cool off for five minutes," proposed Dick, as he filled the feed bag for the horse. "After that we'll be ready for a swim."
"But, with regard to what you were saying about frayed American nerves, poor stomachs and all-around babyishness——-" Tom began all over again.
"Stop it!" laughed Dick. "We don't need that line of talk any longer."
"Then why did you start it?" asked Dave.
"We've covered the two miles that you all thought such a hardship," chuckled Prescott.
"Then you——-" began Reade, opening his eyes wider as a dawning light came into them. "Come on, Dave! Catch him! The water's handy!"
But Dick, with a light laugh, bounded away, shinned up a tree, and, sitting in a crotch, swung his feet toward the faces of Tom, Dave and Harry as they tried to get him and drag him down.
"You've got a strategic position, just now," growled Reade. "But just you wait until we catch you down on the ground again!"
"You fellows must feel pretty well sold," Greg taunted them. "I kept out of the row, for I saw, at the outset, that Dick was going to start something for the sole purpose of keeping us arguing until we forgot all about our breakfasts."
"That's just like Dick Prescott!" uttered Tom ruefully. "We never get to know him so well that he can't start us all on a new tack and have more fun with us."
"Well, you forgot your supposed starvation, didn't you?" chuckledDick from his tree.
Two or three minutes later he swung down from the tree to the ground, rapidly removing his clothing and donning swimming trunks. He was not molested; the other five were too busy preparing for the bath.
"The water's great to-day!" shouted Dick, rising and "blowing" after a shallow dive from a tree trunk at the shore.
In a moment they were all in the water.
"Come on! Follow your leader!" shouted Tom Reade, striking out lustily upstream.
"Come back and give us a handicap!" roared Dave. "How do you expect us to catch you when you get the lead over us with your long legs and arms?"
But Tom dived under water, swimming there. The others followed suit, each remaining under as long as possible, for, in this "stunt," there was no way of knowing when the leader came up. Tom remained under less than fifteen seconds. Then, showing his head, and with rapid overhand strokes he made for the nearer bank, slipping ashore and hiding behind some bushes.
It was Hazy who had to come up first after Tom.
"Whew! Tom must have met someone he knows on the bottom," calledHarry, as Greg's head rose above the surface.
Dave came up next, then Dick, and then Dan.
"Tom ought to be a fish!" uttered Darrin admiringly. "I stayed under water as long as I could."
Yet after going a few yards further up stream Dick Prescott turned, gazing anxiously down stream.
"Fellows," he suggested, "something must have happened to old Tom."
"Or else he's playing a joke on us," hinted Danny Grin, suspiciously.
"It's some joke to remain under water four times as long as the average swimmer can do it," retorted Prescott.
"But Tom may not be under water," spoke up Greg.
"He didn't have time to get anywhere else," Dave declared.
"It may be a joke, but I don't want to take any chances," Dick said earnestly. "Let's go down stream. Spread out, and every now and then bob under and take as near a look at the bottom as you can."
"It doesn't look right," Dave admitted as they all started back.
Several times they went under water, the best swimmers among them getting close to bottom. So they continued on down the stream for some distance.
"Now, all together. Go under water all at the same time," orderedDick.
Below the surface of the river they went. One after another their heads presently appeared above the surface once more.
"Have you fellows lost anything?" quizzed Reade, suddenly appearing on the bank.
"That's what I call a mean trick on us!" cried Dave, flushing slightly.
"You fellows were in for a swim, weren't you?" Reade drawled."You have been having it."
With that he took to the water himself. There was something so jovial and harmless about Reade that, despite their recent anxiety concerning him, they made no effort to duck him.
"The water is fine this morning," called Tom presently, as they all swam about.
"Then why didn't you stay in?" demanded Darry rather cuttingly.
"Say, I'm beginning to feel glad that I waited breakfast for the swim," Reade announced.
"Stick to the truth!" mocked Dick.
"But I really am beginning to feel that a little exercise is the best course before breakfast," Tom declared.
"The next thing we hear," scoffed Hazy, "you'll be telling us that you really don't want any breakfast."
"I'll tell you fellows what I'll do," Tom called. "I'll agree to put off eating until noon if you'll all stick to the idea."
But that suggestion did not prove popular.
"I mean it," Reade insisted. "I hardly care, now, whether I eat any breakfast or not."
"What's that noise below? Come on!" called Prescott, landing and running along the bank. Tom was close behind him, the others following.
In their search for Tom they had gotten farther away from the wagon than they realized. During their brief absence from the spot two tramps had come upon the camp wagon and the piles of discarded clothing. It was plain that the wagon contained all that was needed for several meals—-and the tramps were hungry.
Yet the only safe way to enjoy that food would be to partake of it at a safe distance from the rightful owners.
For that reason, after a few whispered words, the tramps hastily gathered up all the clothing of the high school swimmers, dumping it in the wagon. Then they mounted to the seat.
Just as Dick Prescott and his chums broke from cover they beheld the tramps in the act of driving from the woods out on the road.
Once in the road the tramps urged the horse to a gallop. It was out of the question for the boys, clad as they were in only swimming trunks to pursue the thieves.
"I—-I—-take back all I said about not wanting any breakfast!" gasped Tom Reade, turning to his dismayed chums.
"You come back here!" screamed Danny Grin desperately.
"Haven't time now," called one of the tramps jeeringly, while his companion laid the whip over the startled horse.
With such a start as the tramps had they might be able to drive a mile ere the running boys could overtake them.
Besides, both law and custom forbade six boys clad only in bathing trunks from running along the highway.
"You'll find the wagon a few miles from here!" jeered the tramp who held the reins. "We'll leave it when we're through with it. We——-"
But further words could not be heard for the wagon had vanished from view at a turn in the road between the trees.
"We're in a bad pickle, now!" gasped Tom Reade.
But Dick, studying the lay of the land with swift glances, saw just one chance. If the tramps turned the horse in the right direction on gaining the highway——-
Dick broke off his thoughts there.
"Tom, you and Dave pursue a little way and travel like lightning," ordered young Prescott. "The rest of you pick up stones! Fast! Come along now."
On reaching the highway the driver was forced to make a little turn in order to cross the bridge, in case he decided to travel in the direction that the boys had been going. So Dick dashed ahead, hoping to profit by the one chance he saw.
Just as luck would have it, the tramps turned in the right direction. The horse, galloping fast under the lash, struck his forefeet on the bridge.
Whack! clatter! plug! Four high school boys, all of them baseball players and proud of their straight throwing, sent a small shower of rocks whizzing through the air.
These struck the bridge planks well ahead of the horse.
"Stop—-or the next ones will hit you!" shouted young Prescott.
Just by way of suggestion he threw one stone that flew by within a foot of the nearer tramp's head. Holmes duplicated the throw.
"Stop that!" yelled one of the tramps, but he brought the horse to a standstill.
"Don't you throw any more stones!" yelled the tramp, as he saw the four ball players poised ready for more work in that line.
"Then hold the horse where he is until we come and take him," ordered Dick.
"We won't, and don't you throw any more stones," ordered the tramp. "Jerry, turn your pistol loose on the young cubs if they throw another stone. Giddap!"
"That's a bluff. You haven't any pistol," Dick called to the tramps coolly. "Just start that horse, and we'll knock both your heads off with stones. We know how to throw 'em."
Splash! Greg Holmes had taken to the narrow river. Now he was striking out lustily for the other side. In case the horse was started Holmes would be there, with a handful of stones with which to bombard the fugitives in passing.
"You fellers quit throwing stones, or you're going to get hurt!"
But the pause had accomplished the very thing for which Dick had waited.
"Throw another stone," repeated the tramp, "and you'll get——-"
"Oh, tell it to the Senate!" broke in Tom Reade, climbing into the wagon and seizing the speaker. Dave, who had crept up with him, had gripped the other tramp by the collar.
Both tramps were thrown from the seat. Ere they could recover from their astonishment, Reade and Darrin had leaped down upon their tormentors.
"In with them!" ordered Dick.
Two splashes, occurring almost in the same second, testified to the tackling skill that Reade and Darrin had acquired on the gridiron.
Dick and his friends stood by to rescue the tramps, in case either of them could not swim.
Both could, however, and struck out for the shore, abusing the boys roundly as they swam.
Dave had seized the horse's bridle, and was now turning the animal about. Tom walked on the other side of the wagon.
"Look out, Greg!" called Dick suddenly, as the tramps, gaining the opposite shore, made a sudden rush at Holmes, who stood alone.
"I can take care of myself!" chuckled Greg gleefully, as dodging backward, he poised his right hand to throw a stone. "Look out, friends, unless you want to get hurt!"
Both tramps halted in a good deal of uncertainty. They wanted to thrash this high school boy, but they didn't like the risk of having their heads hurt by flying stones.
Two splashes on the other side of the river heralded the fact that Dan and Harry had started to Greg's aid. The instant they saw this, both men turned away from Greg, making a dash for the highway.
Laughing, young Holmes followed them up with all the missiles he had left. Not one dropped further than three feet from the flying heels of the fugitives, yet not one struck either of the tramps or was meant to do so.
"Come across, you three fellows," laughed young Prescott, when the enemy had vanished in flight. You've all earned your breakfast now, and you shall have it."
"As for me," spoke Tom from the wagon, as he drove into the forest path, "I'm strong for putting on my clothes before I sit down to dally with food."
Reade did not wait until he had driven the wagon where he and his friends could dress away from the view of people on the road.
"The cast-iron cheek of those scoundrels!" vented Dave Darrin indignantly.
"I rather think we are their debtors," smiled Dick quietly, as he drew his shirt over his head.
"You do!" demanded Darry incredulously.
"Yes; just think of all the zest they've put into our morning, and they didn't harm us, either."
"But just think of what it would have been like if we hadn't stopped 'em!" gasped Danny Grin solemnly. "We couldn't have chased 'em. It wouldn't have been decent for us to go along the road, making four miles to every five covered by the horse. No, sir! We'd have had to remain hidden in the forest until we could signal some farmer to send to our folks for clothes to put on. Wouldn't it have been great, staying in the woods two or three days, with nothing to eat, waiting for the proper clothing to enable us to go out into the world again!"
"It was a mean trick!" cried Darry hotly; and then he began to laugh as the ridiculous features of the situation appealed to him.
"But nothing serious happened," laughed Dick, "so we owe that pair of tramps for a pleasant touch to the morning's sport."
"I wonder how many years since either of them has had a bath, until this morning," grinned Reade, as he began to lace his shoes.
As Reade was dressed first, Dick called to him: "Take the horse out of the shafts, Tom, and let him feed in comfort."
"You may," laughed Reade. "As for me, I've flirted with my breakfast so long this morning, and have taken so many chances of not having any, that now I'm going to make sure of that first of all."
So Dick himself attended to the horse. Dan was already gathering firewood, which Dave piled into the stove in the wagon.
Soon water was boiling, coffee was being ground, tins opened, and a general air of comfort and good fellowship prevailed in that forest.
"We'll have to give you the palm for being a good trainer, Dick," declared Tom, taking a bite out of a sandwich and following it with a sip of coffee, "but you have one short-coming. You're no fortune teller. So, as you can't foretell the future, I vote that, after this, we breakfast in the morning and swim later in the day. It would affect my heart in time, if we had to battle every morning for our breakfast in this fashion."
"I can't get over the impudence of those tramps," muttered Darry, as he set his coffee cup down. "They couldn't hope to get away with the horse and wagon and sell them in these days of the rural telephone. They couldn't use our clothing for themselves. And yet they stole all we had in order to get hold of our food. At that, they didn't care what became of us, or how long we had to travel about in these woods without food or clothing."
"The tramps must be optimists," laughed Prescott. "Probably they had an abiding faith that all would turn out well with us, and so proposed to help themselves to what they needed."
"I wonder whether they'll fool with our outfit again," ponderedTom grimly, "if they come across it in our absence."
"I don't know," said Dick gravely. "As you've already reminded me, I am no foreteller of the future."
It was a hot and dusty road that lay before them when they again took up their march that day.
Yet Dick Prescott insisted that, despite the late start, they must count upon covering twenty miles for that second day.
At night they halted on the edge of woods so far from the nearest farm house that Prescott did not consider it necessary to hunt up the owner and ask permission.
"Now, we'll have to see if we can find water here," Dick proposed. "Let's scatter, and the fellow who finds drinkable water must let out a yell to inform the others."
"I'll save you some trouble," Reade offered. "You fellows needn't hunt water at all. Give me the buckets and I'll go and get it."
"Have you been in this part of the country before?" asked Dick.
"No; and I don't need to have been here before in order to know that this ground is full of water," replied Reade, who was full of practical knowledge of that sort. "If I were a civil engineer, out with a field party, I'd mark this section 'water' on the map. Look at the ground here under the trees. It's as moist as can be."
Tom departed, but barely two minutes had elapsed when he was back with two pailfuls of water as clear as crystal.
"It's nearly as cold as ice water," Tom announced. "There's a bully big spring just a few steps back in the woods."
"Then I'm going to use some of this to wash up," Darrin declared."I'll go with you on the next trip, Tom, and help carry the water."
"You'd better wait until we get the tent up before we wash," suggestedPrescott. "Then you'll need it more."
Quick work was made of the encamping. Dan and Greg, from the wagon, passed down the tent itself, the floor boards and joists, the cots and bedding and some of the food supplies.
Then all hands quickly put up the tent. Reade and Hazelton had the flooring down in a jiffy. Dan and Greg put up the cots, while Dick and Dave set up the folding camp table and started the fire in the stove with a bundle of fagots brought in by Hazelton.
"Now, get busy with the wash-up," Dick called.
Within thirty minutes after halting, supper was on the table.
"How far from a swimming place this time?" Tom asked.
"Three miles, if I've studied the map right," replied Prescott, taking the road map from his pocket and passing it over.
"To-morrow," said Dave, "some of us will swim in plain sight of the outfit all the time."
"Do you think you can hike three miles and swim before breakfast in the morning?" asked Dick.
"The way I feel now," said Tom, pushing his campstool back from the table, "I shan't need anything to eat to-morrow."
"You must feel ill, then," declared Danny Grin.
"No; I feel just filed up enough to last for two or three days," sighed Reade contentedly.
Harry and Greg were a bit footsore, but the other boys claimed to feel all right.
"Do any of you feel like taking an evening walk?" asked Dick with a smile.
"I do," Darrin declared promptly.
"Not I," replied Tom. "At least not so soon after supper."
"Shall we try the walk?" Dick asked Darrin.
"I'm ready," Dave agreed. "Come along, then." Though it was dark, the two boys decided not to take a lantern with them.
"We don't need one on a public highway," said Dick as they plunged off down the dark road.
"How far shall we go?" Darrin asked.
"I think two miles away from camp and two miles back, ought to be far enough," Dick replied.
"If we feel like going farther, we can tackle it when the time comes," Darrin answered. "But how shall we judge the distance?"
"We'll walk briskly for thirty-five to thirty-eight minutes," Prescott suggested. "Then we'll turn back. While we're out we may get some idea of whether there's a swimming place nearer than three miles from camp."
Neither felt in the least footsore. Indeed, these two hardy high school boys thoroughly enjoyed their tramp in this cooler part of the twenty-four hours.
"I wish we could live outdoors all the time," murmured Darrin, as he filled his lungs with the fine night air.
"A lot of folks have felt that way," smiled Dick. "The idea is all right, too, only the work of the civilized world couldn't be carried on by a lot of tramps without homes or places of business."
"I've heard, or read," Darry went on, "that a tramp, after one season on the road, is rarely ever reclaimed to useful work. I think I can understand something of the fascination of the life."
"I can't see any fascination about being a tramp," Prescott replied judicially. "First of all, he becomes a vagabond, who prefers idleness to work. Then, too, he becomes dirty, and I can't see any charm in a life that is divorced from baths. From mere idleness the tramp soon finds that petty thieving is an easy way to get along. If I were going to be a thief at all, I'd want to be an efficient one. No stealing of wash from a clothes-line, or of pies from a housekeeper's pantry, when there are millions to be stolen in the business world."
"Now, you're laughing at me," uttered Dave.
"No; I'm not."
"But you wouldn't steal money if you had millions right under your hand where you could get away with the stuff," protested Darry.
"I wouldn't," Dick agreed promptly. "I wouldn't steal anything. Yet it's no worse, morally, to steal a million dollars from a great bank than it is to steal a suit of clothes from a house whose occupants are absent. All theft is theft. There are no degrees of theft. The small boy who would steal a nickel or a dime from his mother would steal a million dollars from a stranger if he had the chance and the nerve to commit the crime. All tramps, sooner or later, become petty thieves. Thieving goes with the life of idleness and vagabondage."
"I don't know about that," argued Dave. "A lot of men become tramps just through hard luck. I don't believe all of them steal, even small stuff."
"I believe they do, if they remain tramps," Dick insisted. "No man is safe who will deliberately go through life without earning his way. The man who starts with becoming idle ends with becoming vicious. This doesn't apply to tramps alone. Any day's newspaper will furnish you with stories of the vicious doings of the idle sons of rich men. Unless a man has an object in life, and works directly toward it all the time, he is in danger."
"I'd hate to believe that every ragged tramp I meet is a criminal,"Dave muttered.
"He is, if he remains a tramp long enough," Dick declared with emphasis. "Take the tramps we met this morning. Look at all the trouble they were taking to rob us of food for a meal or two."
"There may have been an element of mischief in what they did,"Dave hinted. "They may have done it just as a lark."
"They were thieves by instinct," Dick insisted. "They would have stolen anything that they could get away with safely. Hello! There's a light over there in the woods."
"Another camping party?" Dave wondered.
"Tramps, more likely. Suppose we speak low and advance with caution until we know where we are and whom we're likely to meet."
In silence the high school boys drew nearer. The light proved to come from a campfire that had been lighted some fifty feet from the road.
"Yes, you have!" insisted a harsh voice, as the boys drew nearer. "Don't try to fool with us. Turn over your money, or we'll make you wish you had!"
"Why, it's our tramps of this morning," whispered Dave.
"And look at that wagon—-the peddler's!" Dick whispered in answer.
"Come, now, old man! Turn over your money, unless you want us to frisk you for it!" continued a voice.
"There are your honest tramps, Dave," Prescott whispered.
Then his eyes flashed, for, by the light of the campfire the lads saw the tramps seize frightened Reuben Hinman on either side and literally turn him upside down, the old man's head hitting the ground.
"Don't make any noise," whispered Prescott, "but we won't stand for that!"
"We surely won't!" Darry agreed with emphasis.
"Come on, now—-soft-foot!"
As the tramps jostled Mr. Hinman, upside down and yelling with fright, a sack containing the peddler's money rolled from one of the peddler's trousers pockets.
"Shake him again! There'll be more than that coming!" jeered one of the tramps.
But just then they let go their hold of the old man, for Dick Prescott and Dave Darrin rushed in out of the darkness, dealing blows that sent the tramps swiftly to earth.
Yet the two high school boys were now doomed to pay the penalty of not having scouted a bit before rushing in.
For the two tramps were not the only ones of their kind at hand. Out of the shadows under the surrounding trees came a rush of feet, accompanied by hoarse yells.
Then, before they had had time fully to realize just what was happening, Prescott and Darrin found themselves suddenly in the midst of the worst fight they had ever seen in their lives.
"Beat 'em up!" yelled the man whom Dick had knocked down. "I know these young fellers! They put up a bad time for us this morning. Beat 'em up and make a good job of it, too."
There was no use whatever in contending with such odds. Yet Dick and Dave fought with all their might, only to be borne to the ground, where they received severe punishment.
"Hello! hello!" yelled Tom Reade, pacing up and down the road with his lantern, holding his watch in the other hand. "Oh, Dick! Dave!"
But up the road there sounded no answer. Looking utterly worried,Reade came back into camp.
"I don't like the looks of this, fellows," he announced. "There's something wrong. Something has happened to one or both of the fellows. They left here before eight o'clock, and now it's twenty minutes of eleven. If everything had been all right, they'd have been back here by half-past nine o'clock at the latest."
"Suppose we haul down the tent, pack the outfit and move on down the road, looking for some trace of them," proposed Greg.
"No; that would delay the start too much," Tom replied, with a shake of his head. "Whoever goes out to hunt for Dick and Dave must move fast and not be tied to a horse and wagon. I'm going, for one. Who will go with me?"
"I will," promptly answered Dan, Harry and Greg, all in one breath.
"We'll have to leave one fellow to watch the camp," Reade answered, with a shake of his head. "Hazy, I'm afraid the lot will have to fall to you."
"I'd rather go with you," Hazelton declared.
"Of course you would," Tom assented. "But at least one good man must stay here and look after our outfit. So you stay, Harry, and Dan and Greg will go with me."
"Going to take the lantern?" asked Greg, jumping up.
"Yes," Tom nodded, "but we won't light it unless we need it. Just for finding our footing at some dark part of the road the electric flash light will do."
Full of anxiety the trio set out on their search.
But in the meantime, what of Dick and Dave?
Theirs had been a busy evening. After the first rough pummeling, which left them breathless and sore, the tramp who had directed the rough work turned to his friends of the road.
"These young gents have furnished us with some exercise," he grinned wickedly. "Now, suppose we make 'em supply us with a little amusement?"
"It's risky, close to the road," returned one of the tramps who had been back in the shadows. "We don't know when someone will come along and butt in on our sport."
"Two of our crowd can go out as scouts," replied the ringleader.
"They'd better," nodded the adviser, "and even then we'd better take the cart, the old man and these young gents further back into the woods."
Neither Dick nor Dave had said anything so far, for they were too sore, and too much exhausted.
At the leader's command two men went down to the road, to watch in both directions.
"Give the whistle—-you know the one—-if anyone comes along that's likely to spoil the fun," was the ringleader's order.
Reuben Hinman had been deprived of the last dollar in money that he had with him. Quaking and subdued, the old man obeyed the order to mount his cart and drive the rig farther into the woods.
"Take the young gents along, and see that they behave themselves," directed the ringleader.
Dick and Dave did not yet feel in condition to offer any resistance or defiance. Even with the two "scouts" out on the road there were still six of the tramps left to take care of them.
The odds looked too heavy for another fight it when the last one had been so unsuccessful.
As Dick and Dave got to their feet and started along, followed and watched by the tramps, Dick tottered closer to his companion, managing to whisper:
"We've got to gain time, Dave. Pretend to be weak—-crippled—-badly hurt."
That was all. Prescott fell away again without his whisper having been detected by their captors.
Before quitting the spot near the road the ringleader had scattered the campfire so effectually that the embers would soon die out.
A full eighth of a mile back from the road the order was given to Hinman to rein in his horse.
"We're far enough from the road, now, so that we ain't likely to be spotted," said the boss tramp. "Now, let's see what these young gents can do to amuse us. Maybe they know how to sing and dance."
But Dick had sunk wearily to the ground, forcing his breath to come in rapid gasps.
"Get up there, younker," ordered the boss tramp.
"You've hurt me," moaned Dick, speaking the truth, though trying to convey a stronger impression than the facts would warrant.
"And we may hurt you more if you don't get cheerful and help make the evening pass pleasantly," sneered the boss tramp harshly.
"Wait till I—-get so—-I can get my breath—-easier," beggedDick pantingly.
The boss turned to Darrin.
"Young fellow, wot can you do in the entertaining line?" demanded the fellow leeringly.
"Nothing," Dave retorted sulkily. "After you've kicked a fellow so that he's so sore he can scarcely move, do you expect him to do a vaudeville turn right away?"
"Get 'em on their feet," ordered the boss tramp. "We'll show 'em a few things!"
But Dick protested dolefully, sinking back to the ground as soon as the tramp who had hold of him showed a little compassion by letting go of his arm.
"Give me time, I tell you," Dick insisted in a weak voice. "Don't try to kill us, on top of such a thrashing as you gave us."
"Let go of me," urged Darry still speaking sulkily. "If you want anything better than a sob song you'll have to give me time to get my breath back."
As though satisfied that they could get no sport out of the high school boys for the present, the tramps allowed them to lie on the ground, breathing fitfully and groaning.
Dick was watching his chance to get up and bolt, depending upon his speed as a football player to take him out of this dangerous company. Darrin was equally watchful—-but so were the tramps. Plainly the latter did not intend to let their prey get away from them easily.
As for Reuben Hinman, obeying a command, the peddler had alighted from his wagon and now sat with his back against a tree. He had no thought of trying to get away, well knowing that his aged legs would not carry him far in a dash for freedom. The peddler's wearied horse stood and dozed between the shafts.
"It's about time for you younkers to be doing something," urged the boss tramp, after some minutes had slipped away.
"If you'll find the strength for me to stand up," urged Dick, "maybe I can dance, or do something."
"Did we muss you up as much as that?" demanded the boss tramp. "It serves you right, then. You shouldn't have meddled in our pastimes. Maybe it was all right for you fellers to get your horse and wagon back this morning, but you shouldn't have meddled to-night."
"I guess maybe that's right," nodded Darrin sulkily, "but you went in too strong in getting even. You had no call to cripple us for life."
"Oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that," muttered the boss tramp, though there was uneasiness in his voice.
So the tramps sat and smoked about a fire that one of their number had lighted. Another fifteen minutes went by.
"Come, it's time for you fellers to get busy, and give us something—-songs, dances, comic recitations, or something like that. That's what we brought you here for," declared the boss, rising and prodding Darrin with one foot.
But Dave gave forth no sign. His eyes were half open, yet he appeared to see nothing.
"Here, what have you been doing to my friend?" demanded Dick, crawling as if feebly over to where Darry lay. "Great Scott! You haven't injured him, have you?"
Dick acted his part as well as Dave did, but the boss tramp was not inclined to be nervous.
"No," he retorted shortly. "We haven't done much to either of you young fellers not a quarter as much as we're going to do if you don't both of you quit your nonsense soon. Help 'em up, now."
Dick allowed himself to be lifted to his feet and supported in a standing position by one of the most powerful-looking of the tramps. Darrin, however, continued to act as if he were almost lifeless.
"Give him the water cure," ordered the boss tramp, in an undertone to one of his confederates.
Going to the peddler's wagon the one so directed took down a pail. He went off in the darkness, but soon came back with a pail of water. Slipping up slyly, he dashed the water full in Darry's face.
With a gasping cry of rage Dave Darrin started to spring to his feet. Then, remembering his part, he sank back again to the ground.
"Raise him," directed the boss tramp. "He'll find his legs and stand on 'em. We are not going to let this show wait any longer!"
So Dave was roughly jerked to his feet. He swayed with pretended dizziness, next tottered to a tree, throwing his arms around it.
"You start something!" ordered the boss tramp of Prescott.
Feeling that now the chance might come for both of them to make a break for liberty, Dick answered, with a sheepish grin:
"If I can get wind enough I'll see if I can do an Indian war song and dance."
"Go ahead with it," ordered the boss. "It sounds good."
Once, three or four years ago, Dick had heard and seen such a war song and dance done at an Indian show in the summer time.
"I'll see if I can remember it," he replied.
Crooning in guttural tones, he started a swaying motion of his body. Gradually the unmelodious noise rose in volume. Brandishing his hands as though they contained weapons, he circled about the tree, gradually drawing nearer to Darrin.
"That song is mighty poor stuff," growled one of the tramps.
"Ready, Dave! Make a swift break for it!" whispered Prescott.