"You couldn't have come at a finer time!" cried Dick joyously, as he raced to meet the most welcome visitors.
"We're barbecuing a whole cow."
"Then I trust, Prescott, that you came honestly by the cow," rejoinedDr. Bentley his eyes twinkling.
Besides Dr. and Mrs. Bentley, there were eight girls. The visitors quickly explained that, besides the Bentley touring car, that of the Sharps was being used on this expedition, Susie Sharp being one of the girls of the party. The Sharps did not employ a chauffeur, but their general man knew how to run the car, and he was now engaged in taking the cars to a spot well off the road.
"I'll send one of the fellows to get him," Dick promised, as he led the numerous though welcome guests to camp.
"Lucky I made a special big pudding," grinned Jim Hornby.
"The girls may have my share," gallantly offered Tom Reade, though he groaned under his breath.
"There's pudding enough for a lot more people than we have here," returned Jim. "I don't bother making small puddings."
The boys were all called in quickly to greet the girls and Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. Of course, the girls had to see the interior of the tent, and all the arrangements of the camp.
"I wish I were a boy," sighed Laura Bentley enviously.
"I'm glad you're not," spoke Dick gallantly. "You're ever so much nicer as a girl."
Honk! honk! sounded over by the road. The noise continued.
"Greg," said Dick, "that's Miss Sharp's father's man. Evidently he wants something. You'd better run over."
In less than five minutes back came Greg with three other men, all of them unexpected. Mr. Alonzo Hibbert, minus his four-quart hat, and wearing a flat straw hat instead, as well as light clothes and silk negligee shirt, came in advance of Tom Colquitt, the man from Blinders' detective agency. Still to the rear of them was a third man, slightly bent and looking somewhat old, though there were no gray streaks in his light brown hair.
"How do you do, boys?" called Mr. Hibbert airily, as he came swiftly forward. "We saw a big smoke over this way, and so we stopped to find out what was the matter. Young Holmes has asked us to stop for your barbecue, but it looks to me like a terrible imposition on you, and so——-"
Here Mr. Hibbert paused, looking highly embarrassed as he caught sight of Mrs. Bentley and the girls coming out of the tent.
"You already have other company," murmured Hibbert apologetically."No; most decidedly we must not intrude on you."
"How do you do, Mr. Colquitt?" was Dr. Bentley's greeting. Then other introductions followed, and, ere he knew it, Hibbert and his friends were members of the party and destined to partake of the barbecue feast.
The oldish-looking man with the new arrivals proved to be Mr.Calvin Page.
"He's the millionaire father of the missing boy that Colquitt and I are trying to find," Hibbert explained to Dick.
"Have you any clue, as yet?" Prescott inquired.
"Nothing worth while," sighed Lon Hibbert.
"It's too bad," murmured Dick. "Mr. Page is a fine-looking man, but he must be lonely."
"He is," agreed Lon Hibbert.
"His wife is dead, isn't she?"
"Yes; and Page would give the world to find that boy of his."
"Perhaps if he doesn't find his son it may be as well," Dick hinted.
"Why, as well?"
"The missing son, brought up by others, might have turned out badly," Prescott suggested.
"Pooh!" quickly rejoined Lon Hibbert. "That missing son, no matter how wild or bad he may be, is still young enough to reform. Prescott, no matter how bad that son may be, it will be a blessing for my friend Page to find his boy! I pray that it may be my good fortune to run across that son, one of these days, and that I may be the first to recognize the boy."
"Prescott," broke in Mr. Ross, coming forward, "you don't begin to have enough knives, forks and plates to take care of this crowd, do you?"
"I'm sorry to say that we haven't," Dick smiled. "But we'll manage that all right. My friends and I will play waiters, and sit at second table after the dishes have been washed."
"You won't have to," replied the cattle owner. "I have a folding table and dishes in my wagon, and I'll send Bill Hopple after 'em."
So the tables were set under the shade of the trees, not far from the campfire. The Sharps man came up, and was seated with Jim and Bill. Everything being now cooked, the feast began.
"I've never had anything as wonderful as this happen to me before," cried Belle Meade, as she seated herself and looked over the two tables with sparkling eyes. "Girls, we didn't look forward to such a treat as this when we left Gridley this morning."
"You intended to look in on us, didn't you?" inquired Darry.
"Yes; but we brought our own luncheons," said Laura. "We didn't expect you to do anything for us—-unless you boys had happened to catch a mess of fish."
"We were planning to go fishing this morning," Tom Reade explained, "although we do not know whether the fishing near here amounts to much. May I pass you some of this sirloin, Miss Marshall?"
Gay spirits ruled, as they usually do and always should when young people are together out in the open, far from studies or from any of the other cares of life.
Dick told the story of the stampede, while Mr. Ross added much about the peculiarities of stampeding cattle and the impossibility of controlling the animals while their mad fright lasts.
"I am certain that this is the finest meal I have ever eaten," declared Mr. Page, who, up to the present, had been rather silent.
"There is only one thing it needs," rejoined Mr. Ross. "If we had about six roasted ears of corn for each diner then this barbecue would be a huge success."
"Not even the corn could improve it," declared Laura Bentley, as Dick helped her to more of the roasted meat.
"Don't forget that pudding, ladies and gentlemen!" called out Jim Hornby, from where he sat. "That pudding is my best kind, and the best one of its kind that I ever turned out. When you have the pudding you won't be thinking of a little thing like roasted ears of corn."
"No more, thank you," replied Clara Marshall, as Greg tried to secure her plate in order to help her to more food.
"Until the pudding comes on," prompted Jim Hornby.
"Until the pudding arrives," smiled Clara.
"But no one may think of having pudding yet," insisted Mr. Ross, with mock gravity. "I forbid that anyone should have pudding, or even think of it, until we have tried the one really delicious dish of this feast."
"And what may that be?" called Dr. Bentley.
"The best part of the cow," replied Mr. Ross.
"A big rib roast, served with cracked bones with the marrow cooked in them. Come along, Bill. We'll bring back the roast and the marrow."
Ross and his man moved briskly out of sight. Only a few moments had passed when Mr. Ross' voice was heard from the clearing:
"Thieves! The rib roast is gone—-so is the marrow!"
Dick glanced swiftly at his chums. The same idea was in the minds of all the members of Dick & Co.
"Our friend, the prowler, has been here," muttered Prescott, rising hastily. "This thing has got to be stopped. Come along, fellows! Friends, please excuse us for a few moments."
At a dog trot Dick led the way to the clearing. There stood Mr.Ross, looking the picture of indignation.
"I didn't know there were tramps in these woods," muttered the cattle owner.
"Tramp, thief, or whatever he is," exclaimed Dick Prescott, "that fellow must move on out of this part of the country. If he doesn't we'll catch him. After we get through with him, he'll be glad enough to move on."
"If he's able," added Dave Darrin significantly.
"Oh, what's the use of making a fuss, this time?" demanded Tom Reade good-humoredly. "For once we have so much meat that we could spare a hungry man two hundred pounds and not miss it."
"It's the principle of the thing," muttered Dick, who was studying the ground intently. "That big, hulking fellow doesn't care a rap whether we have plenty, or whether he takes all we have. We've got to suppress him. We must catch him, and put a stop to his thieving. See! Here's where he went off through the woods. Come on! We'll trail him!"
"And, if we find him?" asked Greg.
"We'll try to reason with the fellow," responded Prescott rather grimly.
Just as the boys started off on the trail that Prescott had discovered, other figures appeared on the scene.
"Now, may I ask what you girls are doing here?" asked Tom, his tone more agreeable than his words.
"We want to see the fun, whatever is going to happen," declaredSusie Sharp.
"Oh, there will be plenty of that, I promise you, if we can find the fellow," asserted Darry bluntly.
"Come along, girls!" cried Belle Meade gleefully.
"But there may be something disagreeable happen, you know, girls," Dick warned them. "If we overtake this fellow there may be a fight."
"If you could call it a fight, when six Gridley high school boys attack one man, then I shall have to change my mind about our high school boys," hinted Laura Bentley teasingly.
It was plain enough that the girls were bent on following them, so no more objections were raised.
"We'll travel so fast that the girls won't be able to keep up," whispered Tom Reade to Dick. "We'll lose 'em, and they'll be glad to hike back to the table."
This, however, proved to be not quite as easy as had been expected. The trail into the woods was rather a plain one, though it could not be followed at a run.
"Keep behind me, fellows," urged Dick. "If you keep up with me you may blot out the trail."
So his five chums came after him, with the girls in the rear, in a straggling line.
Into the deepest woods the trail led. "The girls will soon tire of this chase, and face about," Tom told Darry.
Which was precisely what happened.
In the deepest part of the woods Dick parted a tangle of bushes through which the trail led. Then, in a voice vibrant with agitation, he shouted:
"Come on, fellows! Quick!"
What Dick had caught sight of, and what had made him call to his chums was the figure of the camp prowler partially dressed seated on the edge of a pool of water fed by a forest brook where evidently he had been bathing.
He had heard Dick's cry, however. These few instants of time had been enough for the bather to jump up, snatch up the remainder of his clothes and set off through the woods with the speed of an antelope.
"Come on!" cheered Dick Prescott. "Full speed! We'll catch him. He hasn't his shoes on, and his bare feet will soon go lame on the twigs and stones that he'll step on in running. He can't go far before we nab him."
"Spread out, fellows!" called Tom Reade. "Don't let the rascal slip through our line. Dick, did you get a good look at him?"
"A fine peep," Prescott affirmed.
"Was he the thief?" Dave demanded.
"The very fellow!" Dick called back, for he was still in the lead.
"Don't talk any more," Reade warned his friends cautiously. "We'll use up our wind."
As he ran Dick had an important secret on his mind. This was not quite the time to impart it to his chums, however, so he held his peace and did his best to save his wind.
Thus half a mile, at least, was quickly traversed. By this time the high school boys, running as they had done, began to feel winded.
"I can't go any further," gasped Hazelton, halting and leaning against a tree.
"I'm in the same fix," muttered Danny Grin. as he, too, came to a stop.
Reade, Darrin and Prescott ran on some distance farther, but at last Dick called a brief signal for a halt.
"Where are you, friend?" bawled Dick, using his last wind in one resolute vocal effort.
"Friend!" scoffed Reade.
"Of course the fellow will call and tell us where he is!" jeeredDarry.
"We won't hurt you—-won't try to," Dick promised solemnly, again sending his voice as far as he could make it travel. "All we want to do is to talk to you—-and we're friends honestly!"
"Say, what are you trying to give that thief?" protested Tom, in an indignant undertone.
"Why are you telling him we're friends, and won't hurt him?" insistedDave Darrin.
"Because I mean just what I say," retorted Prescott, so crisply that, for the moment, no one pressed him with any more questions.
Dick continued his calls, but received no response.
"By this time that fellow's a mile from here, and still running," mocked Dave.
"Or else he doubled on us, somewhere, and is hidden where he can watch us, and laugh at us slyly," suggested Tom, as the three high school boys turned to walk back to camp.
"If he's hiding on our trail, the thief had better not let me catch him laughing at us!" growled Darry indignantly.
"Now, see here, both of you," Dick Prescott went on, earnestly."If we come across that fellow, don't either of you make a grabat him. Just let me handle him—-and I'll do it by talking alone.We mustn't use our fists."
"You've changed your tune wonderfully within the last few minutes," muttered Dave.
"If I have," Dick answered impressively, "it's because I know something now that I didn't know a little while ago."
"And what's that?" asked Tom eagerly.
"I'll tell all hands presently," Dick answered mysteriously.
"Oh, fudge!" growled Darry, under his breath, for he was fully as curious as Tom Reade had been.
But Dick walked on as briskly as his almost winded condition would permit. So they returned to the place where Harry and Dan awaited them. To these two Dick repeated his instructions in the unlikely case of their meeting the thief during their walk back to camp.
Nothing was seen of the fugitive, however, and the boys picked up Greg Holmes close to the little swimming pool.
"I knew I could not catch up with you fellows," explained Holmes, "so I took the girls back to camp and then put in my time prowling about here and trying to locate the marrow bones that the sneak stole."
"Dick doesn't want us to hurt the fellow, if we run across him," said Dave grimly.
"Why not?" asked Greg, opening his eyes very wide.
"I don't know," sighed Dave. "Ask Dick."
"I'll tell you all by and by," smiled Dick. "But now, let us hurry back to camp. I want to see Mr. Colquitt just as soon as I can."
"Bosh! A detective like Colquitt doesn't take up with such trifling mysteries as missing marrow bones," jibed Reade. "Besides, we can't afford to hire detectives."
"I don't want to hire a detective," Dick replied enigmatically, "but I'd like about one minute's talk with Mr. Colquitt, and I mean to have it. Don't let us dawdle on the way back, fellows."
So the six boys hurried on and soon came within sight of the camp.
"There they come!" cried Belle Meade. "Did you get the thief, boys?"
"No," called Dave, "and it seems that the fellow is no longer a thief, but a distinguished fellow citizen whom we must honor at sight, like a bank draft."
"What are you talking about?" half frowned Belle.
"I haven't the least idea what I am talking about," Dave admitted cheerfully. "You'll have to ask Dick for the map to my few remarks."
"Where are Mr. Colquitt and his party?" Dick demanded.
"Gone," replied Laura Bentley.
"How long ago?" Dick asked, paling somewhat and looking troubled.
"About two minutes ago," replied Dr. Bentley. "They excused themselves and went away in their car."
"Can't you take me in your car, Doctor, and help me to pursue them?" asked Prescott anxiously.
"Yes," agreed Dr. Bentley good-naturedly, "if you've any idea which direction to take in looking for them. A mile to the east three roads cross; half a mile to the west four roads cross. Our friends may be on any one of the seven roads, or they may have gone by a trail of their own."
Dick came to an abrupt stop, clenching his hands tightly.
"Isn't that luck for you?" he demanded ironically. Then, suddenly, his face brightened.
"No matter," he said. "They can be reached through the EagleHotel, in Gridley."
"Why should you want to reach them?" asked Laura curiously.
"Will you mind if I keep that to myself, for just a little while?" asked Dick, so pleasantly that Laura took no offense at all.
"How about my pudding?" called Jim. "Anyone going to want any of it?"
Did they? It was enjoyed to the full, and there was pudding left over, to be heated for another meal.
"Now, you boys had better come with me, and I'll show you how to keep some of the cooked meat over, in summer, without ice," proposed Mr. Ross.
"And my party must be getting along, or night will overtake us here," declared Dr. Bentley, rising from what had been a most hospitable board.
"Then fellows, please excuse me if I write a short note and askDr. Bentley to mail it," urged Dick.
So Dave Darrin mustered the other chums, marching them off in the wake of Mr. Ross, while Dick hastily scribbled a note, placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to Alonzo Hibbert, or Thomas Colquitt, Eagle Hotel, Gridley.
As Dick came out his other chums halted their labors long enough to take leave of Dr. Bentley and his party. They escorted the departing guests to their automobiles, and saw them start away.
Such of the roast meat as was to be saved was packed in metal pails, covered, and then the pails lowered into a brook, where the cool water would to a certain extent take the place of ice.
Then Mr. Ross and his helpers removed the folding tables and other loaned articles.
"Thank you, boys, for what you did to break the stampede of the herd," said Mr. Ross, waving his hand after he had sprung up into the saddle.
Once more Dick & Co. had their camp all to themselves.
"I wish we could have such visitors every day," cried Darry enthusiastically.
"Yes," grinned Tom, "but how long would our canned goods hold out? We'd have to be rich, fellows, to entertain so many people every day, even if the meat end of the feast did come to us without cost."
"We want to make the camp shipshape again," Dick remarked, looking about. "There's a lot of refuse food to be burned. Greg, you start a fire. Dan you gather up every scrap of food that must be thrown away and burn it on said fire. Dave, you can set the tent to rights. I'll take an axe and hustle after some firewood. Dave, suppose you help me. Tom might put the camp to rights."
With the labor thus divided all hands set briskly to work. By the time that all the tasks had been performed the boys were glad to lie down on the grass and rest until it was time to prepare a light supper. After that meal was over Dave asked:
"We're going to keep regular guard to-night, aren't we?"
"Yes," Dick answered. "We'll turn in at nine o'clock and keep guard until six in the morning. That will be nine hours—-an hour and a half of guard duty for each fellow. Suppose we draw lots to decide the order in which we shall take our tricks of guard duty."
This was done. To Prescott fell the second tour, from ten-thirty until midnight. Reade had the first tour.
At a few minutes after nine all was quiet in the camp. Five tired high school boys were soon sound asleep, with Reade, hidden in the deep shadows, watching outside.
It seemed to young Prescott that he had no more than dropped off into slumber when Tom shook him by the shoulder.
"Half-past ten," whispered Reade, as Dick sat up. "Go out to the wash basin and dash cold water into your eyes. That will open 'em and freshen you up."
"Have you seen anything of the prowler?" whispered Dick, as he got upon his feet.
"Not a sign," declared Tom.
"It would be too early for him to prowl about yet," whisperedDick, as he passed out into the Summer night. "Good night, Tom."
Only a faint stirring of the light breeze in the tree tops, the droning hum of night insects, and the occasional call of a night bird—-these were all the sounds that came to the ears of the young camp guard.
Dick dashed the water into his eyes, then felt wonderfully wide awake.
"If Mr. Prowler comes, he'll probably go for the canned vegetables and the biscuit," Prescott decided. "He must already have more meat than he can handle all day to-morrow—-if it doesn't spoil."
So Dick posted himself where he could easily watch the approach of any outsider toward the boxes that served as cupboards for the canned supplies.
The time slipped away, until it was nearly midnight, as Prescott knew from stepping into the tent and lighting a match briefly for a swift glimpse at his watch.
As Dick came out of the tent he fancied he heard a distant step, crackling on a broken twig.
"If there's anyone coming I'd better slip into the shadow of the canvas," Prescott told himself, acting accordingly.
Presently the stealthy steps sounded nearer to the camp.
"Someone is coming, as sure as fate," Dick said to himself. "Shall I rouse one or two of the other fellows? But they might alarm the prowler. I'll handle him myself."
It was the prowler.
Close to the tent he stopped to listen to the heavy breathing that came from the sound young sleepers. Dick crouched farther back into the shadow.
Uttering a low grunt, that was half chuckle, the prowler slipped along in the darkness, making toward the cupboards.
"My friend, I want a little talk with you," suddenly spoke DickPrescott, slipping up behind the uninvited visitor.
The prowler wheeled quickly about.
"You don't want anything to do with me," he corrected, in a harsh voice. "I could eat two or three like you, and then have plenty of appetite left."
"Perhaps," smiled Dick Prescott undaunted.
"And I'll do it, too, if you don't stand back."
"But I want to talk with you, my friend," Dick insisted.
"I don't want to talk with you," snapped the prowler.
"You would, if you knew what I want to talk with you about," Prescott continued.
"Is it about food?" demanded the young stranger grimly.
"Then it's about jail," sneered the other harshly.
"Why about jail?" asked Dick.
"Because that's where you'd like to see me!"
"Why should I want to see you in jail?" Prescott demanded.
"Because I've been visiting your kitchen," leered the other."But you can't stop me. Not all of your crowd can stop me!"
"Why do you wish to clean us out of food?" Prescott asked.
"Because I know how to eat," replied the young stranger significantly.
"Is that the only reason you have for trying to clean us all out of food?"
"Why should I have any other reason? And why isn't being hungry a good enough reason?" counter-queried the prowler.
"It has struck me," smiled Dick, "that perhaps you don't want us in these woods, anyway."
"I don't just hanker after your company," admitted the stranger, with gruff candor.
"Are we bothering you any here?"
"No matter," came the sullen retort.
"To return to the first subject, that matter about which I want to talk with you——-"
"Not to-night," growled the young prowler. Turning on his heel, he started to walk away.
But Dick kept close at his side.
"Shake my trail, you!" ordered the other gruffly. "If you don't you'll be sorry!"
With that the stranger broke into a loping run. At first glance this gait didn't seem to be a swift one, but it was the long, easy, loping stride of the wolf in motion. Young Prescott found that he had to exert himself in order to keep up with the other.
"Go back to your shack!" ordered the prowler.
"Hold on a minute, so that I can talk with you," urged Prescott.
By this time they were at a considerable distance from the camp. Suddenly the prowler halted, wheeling about like a flash, glaring into young Prescott's eyes.
"Now, I'll learn you!" growled the prowler.
"Do you mean that you'llteachme?" queried Prescott. "What?"
"I'll learn you," growled the other, "not to keep on banging around me when I don't want you!"
"Do you happen to have any idea," Dick persisted coolly, "that your name is probably Page, and that you undoubtedly have a very rich father, who is trying to find you?"
"Where did you read that fairy tale?" sneered the prowler.
"Partly on your skin to-day," Dick rejoined, "when I came upon you as you were dressing near that pool."
"Stop kidding me!" commanded the other sternly. "And now back to you cosy little bed for you! Fade! Vanish! If you don't then you'll soon wish you had!"
But Dick held his ground, despite the very evident sincerity of the other's threat, and gazed unflinchingly back at the prowler.
"Let me tell you," Dick went on. "Of course I cannot be positive, but there is a missing heir who has, on his chest and one shoulderblade just such marks as I saw on you to-day when you were sitting by the pool putting on your shirt?"
"Oh, forget that thrilling stuff!" jeered the other. "Don't you suppose I know who my father is? Old Bill Mosher hasn't suddenly grown rich. How could Bill get rich when he is in jail for drunkenness?"
"So you think your name is Mosher?" pursued Prescott.
"I know it is," replied the prowler harshly. "And, around this neck of the woods a fellow couldn't have a harder, tougher name than Mosher."
"But if your name were really Page——-" pressed Dick.
"No use stringing me like that," snapped the other. Even in the darkness, lit only here and there by starlight, the scowl on his face was visible. "Tell you what," declared Mosher, an instant later.
"Well?"
"Beat it!"
"I don't under———"
"Yes, you do," retorted the self-styled Mosher. "Vamoose!Twenty-three in a hurry! Make your get-away!"
"Until I've made you listen to reason," Prescott insisted, "I won't leave you."
"Oh, yes, you will, and right now, or——-"
"No!"
"See here!"
Mosher held a hard, horny fist menacing before Dick's face, but the high school boy failed to wince.
"Git! Now, or crawl later!" warned Mosher.
"I'm going to make you listen to——-"
"Put up your guard!"
At least Mosher was "square" enough to give warning of his intentions.He threw himself on guard, then waited for perhaps five seconds.
"Are you going to cool down and listen!" demanded Dick Prescott firmly.
Out shot the Mosher youth's left fist. Dick dodged. It was a feint; Dick nearly stopped Mosher's right.
Blows rained in thickly now. Not every one could Prescott dodge, though he was more agile and better trained than this more powerful youth.
At last, smarting from a glancing blow on the nose, Dick darted in and clinched with his adversary. It was bad judgment, but punishment had stung him into desperate recklessness.
"Stop it!" panted the high school boy.
"Won't!" retorted Mosher, increasing his pressure about the smaller boy's waist until Prescott felt dizzy. In that extremity the Gridley boy worked a neat little trip. Down they went, rolling over and over, fighting like wild cats until Mosher secured the upper hand and sat heavily on the high school boy.
"I gave you all the chance I could," growled Mosher, planting blow after blow on Dick's head, face and chest, "and you wouldn't help yourself anyway. Now, you'll take all your medicine, and next time you meet me you'll know enough to leave me alone."
Held as he was, without really a show, Dick Prescott fought as long as he could, and with desperate courage. But at last he felt forced to yell:
"Fellows! Gridley! Here—-quickly!"
"They're too far away, and, besides, they're asleep," jeered Mosher, to the accompaniment of three more hard blows. "Now, I reckon you've had enough to know your own business after this and let mine alone. If I had any cord I'd tie you here. As it is——-"
Leaping suddenly to his feet, Mosher turned and ran swiftly through the woods.
Dick badly hurt, yet as determined as ever, pursued for a few score of yards. Then realizing that he could hear no sound of the other's steps to guide him in the right direction, the high school boy halted.
"I may as well give it up this time," he said to himself grimly. "Besides, my main job is to guard the camp. If I go roaming through the woods, Mosher, as he calls himself, will double back on the camp and clean out our provisions while I'm groping out here in the dark."
So Dick paused only long enough to make sure of his course back. Then he plodded along, wincing with the pain of many blows that he had received.
"I'm lucky, anyway, that I didn't get an eye bunged up," he reflected. "I smart and I ache, but I can see straight, and I don't believe I've received any blow that will disfigure me for the next few days. My, what a steam hammer that fellow is in a fight! I wonder if he really is the son of that hard character called Bill Mosher?"
As Dick neared the camp he stepped more softly. He wanted to see whether Mosher really had come back.
But no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp. Dick walked in more confidently. His first care was to examine the food supply.
"Nothing gone," Dick murmured. Then he looked about for a stick large enough to serve as a weapon at need. While doing so his glance fell upon an axe.
"I wouldn't use that," Prescott told himself. "But there is no knowing what Mosher would do if he got cornered by more than one of us. Hereafter we mustn't leave this thing outside."
Dick carried the axe into the tent, hiding it without awaking any of the other sleepers. Then he went outside, searching until he found a club that he thought would answer for defense.
Taking this with him he went over to the wash basin, where, wetting a towel, he bathed his battered face.
"Almost one o'clock," he remarked, after striking a match for a look at his watch. "I won't call Dave at all, but will stay up and call Harry at half-past one."
"Now, come in with the sprint!" Dick sang out to Hazelton.
"Greg, Dave and Tom, you block him. Get through, Harry—-some way! Don't let 'em stop you."
It was three days later, and Dick & Co. were at work at their main task during this summer camping, which was to train hard and try to fit themselves for the football squad when high school should open again.
Hazelton came on, at racing speed. He ducked low, making a gallant effort. He nearly succeeded in getting through, but Tom's tackle brought him to ground just at the right moment.
"Now, try that over again," Prescott said.
So the work went on, vigorously, for another hour—-until all of the boys were tired out, hot and panting.
"That's the most grueling work I ever did in the same space of time," muttered Reade, mopping his face.
"Yes; it's the kind of work for which football calls," rejoinedPrescott, also mopping his face. "Dan, get up off the ground!"
"I'm hot," muttered Dalzell, "and I'm tired."
"Then rest on a campstool. Don't chill yourself by lying on the ground when you're so warm."
After a few seconds of contemplated mutiny, Danny Grin rose and found a seat on a stool.
"As soon as you're cool, three of you go to the water and wash off," Dick ordered. "The other three of us will stay here until you get back."
That was the order of the day now. At least two, and usually three of Dick & Co. always remained near camp. If Mosher planned to come again he would find a "committee" waiting to receive him.
There were more supplies, too, to guard now than there had been. On the morning after Dick's encounter, a farmer had driven into camp. His wagon had been well laden with all manner of canned food supplies, even to tins of French mushrooms. These had come from Alonzo Hibbert, with a note of thanks for the entertainment of himself and friends.
"These provisions are mighty welcome," Prescott had remarked at the time, "but I'm not sure but that I would rather have Hibbert himself here—-I've so much to tell him."
"He'll come, in time, when he gets your letter at the Eagle House," Reade had answered, for Dick had told all his chums his suspicions regarding young Mosher.
"What are we to do this afternoon?" asked Dave, seating himself beside Prescott as three of the chums started for the swimming pool.
"Gymnastics," Dick replied. "Especially bar work. And some boxing, of course."
"You ought to be excused from boxing for the present," grinnedDarry. "You look as though you had had enough for a while."
For Dick's left cheek was still decorated with a bruise that young Mosher had planted there. The boxing of Dick & Co., this summer, was real work. It was done with bare knuckles, though, of course, without anger or the desire to do injury. Boxing with bare knuckles was Prescott's own idea for hardening himself and his chums for the rough work of the gridiron.
"I'll take my share of the boxing," Dick retorted. "Having a sore spot on my face will make me all the more careful in my guard."
"Queer we don't hear from Hibbert," mused Greg Holmes.
"Not at all," Dave contended. "Hibbert simply isn't back at the Eagle House yet, and perhaps the hotel people have had no orders about forwarding his mail It may be a fortnight before we hear from him."
"Thanks to the thoughtfulness of Hibbert we can remain in camp a good deal more than a fortnight longer," observed Prescott, glancing over the greatly increased food supply. "Perhaps it was all right for Hibbert to repay our courtesy the other day, but he has sent us something like twenty or thirty times as much food as his party ate."
"I guess Hibbert has more money than he knows what to do with," mused Greg aloud.
"Even if he has," Prescott smiled seriously, "there is no reason why he should feel called upon to keep us in food. I'd give four fifths of that food to know where to reach Hibbert, or any of that party, in a hurry. Jupiter!"
"What's up?" asked Dave, eyeing his chum in astonishment, for Dick had suddenly leaped to his feet, and was now dancing about like an Indian.
"Say, but we must have fried eggs in the place of brains!" cried young Prescott reproachfully.
"What calls forth that severe remark?" demanded Darry.
"Why, we know well enough where to get hold of Hibbert's party,"Dick went on.
"Do we?" asked Greg.
"Certainly," cried Dick triumphantly. "Just send a note to Mr. Colquitt in care of Blinders' Detective Agency. I'm going to write the note now!"
Dick was half-way to the tent when Darry called after him:
"By the way, in what city is the Blinders' agency located?"
Dick halted short, looking blank.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Do you fellows?"
None of them did. Then they waited until the others came in from the pool. But none of them knew what city had the honor to shelter the Blinders' agency.
"I'll write the note, anyway," Dick insisted. "If I can't do better, I'll put the address as simply the United States, with a request on the envelope for the post-office people to find the right city and deliver the letter."
"Go ahead with the letter," urged Tom. "After dinner I'll walk over to Five Corners and mail the letter. Incidentally, I'll make inquiries over there and see whether anyone knows the city in which the Blinders' crowd has its headquarters."
So Dick wrote the letter, while others were preparing the noon meal. At one o'clock in the afternoon Tom started, on his round-trip tramp of twenty-two miles.
"A trip like that will take the place of training for one half day," Reade explained.
Hazelton offered to go with him, but Tom declined on the ground that he could get over ground faster without Harry.
It was an hour after dark when Reade returned that night, hot, tired, dusty and hungry. But he had found the correct address of the agency and the letter had started on its journey.
"Your supper is all ready," Dick announced.
"And I'm ready to meet any supper more than half way," Reade retorted."Just a minute, until I wash up."
The other five boys sat and chatted by the table while Tom ate.
"Dan, won't you throw a lot more wood on the fire?" asked Dick, as the meal came to a close. "We ought to have the camp better lighted than this."
Greg sprang to help Dalzell. Soon the flames leaped up, throwing their ruddy, cheerful glow over the camp and making dancing shadows beyond under the trees.
While they were still chatting over the day's doings, steps were heard, followed by the arrival in camp of two rough-looking, stern-faced men. Dave Darrin sprang to pick up a club.
"You boys haven't been doing anything wrong, have you?" questioned one of the men, with a trace of a smile.
"Of course not," Dick indignantly replied.
"Then you needn't be afraid of us, though I admit that we do look rough," answered the same man, displaying a badge. "We're officers of the law."
"What can we do for you, sir?" Prescott inquired more respectfully.
"Do you boys know anything about Tag Mosher?" demanded the same speaker.
"Son of Bill Mosher?" Dick counter-queried.
"The same. Know anything about him?"
"Nothing, except that he bothered us a good deal when we were first camped here," Prescott replied.
"Do you know him by sight, then?"
"We all do."
"When was Tag here last?" pressed the officer.
"About three days ago," Dick answered. "He stole quite a bit of our food supply."
"That's an old trick of that young tough," rejoined the deputy sheriff. "That's how the boy got the nickname of 'tag.' He won't work, and lives on other people's work. Anything that he can say 'tag' to he thinks belongs to him."
"Then, in other words, sir," asked Dave Darrin, "Tag Mosher is just a plain thief?"
"A good deal that way," replied the deputy. "But with this difference: Up to date Tag never stole anything except what he needed at the moment for his own comfort. He never robbed people to enrich himself, but just to save himself the trouble of working. Now, however, we've a more serious charge against him."
"What?" asked Dick,
"I don't know whether the courts will call it felonious assault," replied the deputy. "But Tag stole two chickens out of the chicken coop of Henry Leigh, a new farmer in these parts. Leigh trailed Tag to the woods and found him cooking the chickens. Leigh tried to grab Tag, but Tag caught up a big stone and just slammed it against Leigh's head. Leigh is now in bed at home, with a fractured skull, and likely to die. He described Tag to us, and we're after him. The county has put a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars on Tag's head. After we've come up with him I guess it will be many a year before Tag Mosher will have a chance to do any more stealing or fighting. But if you haven't seen him here in three days we may as well be moving on. Thank you. Of course, if you see Tag, you won't tell him anything about our being here?"
"Certainly not, sir," Dick answered. "By the way, do you want any help?"
"Meaning some of you boys?" asked the deputy.
"Some of us will help you, if we can," Dick assured him.
"How many?"
"We ought to leave half our number to guard the camp, for Tag may show up here and wreck things. Three of us can go with you."
"You may run into some ugly fighting, if you go with us," warned the deputy. "Tag Mosher is no coward!"
"We're not afraid of fighting, when we're in the right," Prescott replied promptly.
"Besides, we've got a grudge of our own against Tag Mosher, anyway,"Dave said.
"Not a grudge, I hope," Dick rebuked his chum. "But we'll stand by to help the law, if we get a chance."
"I reckon maybe we could use three of you," meditated the deputy aloud. "Boys can beat up woods as well as men. But we may not be able to get you back here before to-morrow noon.
"That will be all right," Dick assured him. "Dave and Greg, you'll join me in going with the officers, won't you?"
Darry and Holmes both assented eagerly.
"If you've any extra grub, then, put it up and come along," urged the deputy. "There's room for five in the automobile we're using."
"How did you men know that we were here?" Reade inquired, whileDick and Greg made haste to get food together for the trip.
"Saw your campfire," replied the deputy laconically. "We didn't believe Tag would build such a large fire, but we took a chance and looked in. If you haven't anything else to do, young Long-legs, you might pick out three stout clubs for your friends."
Laughing good-naturedly at the nickname, Tom bestirred himself.Within three minutes all was ready.
Dick, Dave and Greg stepped away after the officers. Not far away was the road, where the automobile stood with the engine running.
"Does Tag know how to run a car?" Prescott inquired.
"Don't know," replied the deputy.
"If he does, and had happened to be about, he could have taken your car in good shape," smiled Dick.
"True," nodded the officer, "but there were only two of us, and nabbing Tag Mosher is two men's work."
"I ought to know that," laughed Dick. "He gave me a stiff enough beating."
"Here is where you can even the score," laughed Dave grimly.
"I don't want to even any score," replied Prescott gravely. "I'm sorry for the fellow, especially when he was so close to a chance to turn about and make something of himself."
"Do you mean to say that you don't hold even a bit of a grudge for that severe beating you got?" demanded Darry wonderingly.
"Of course I don't," Dick retorted. "When two fellows fight one of them must receive a beating—-that's the sporting chance. All my feelings for Tag are of sympathy."
"Not enough so you'd let him get away, if you met him?" put in the deputy quickly.
"Of course, not, sir," Dick answered quickly flushing. "That would be as much as to say that I'm a bad citizen. If I find Tag I'll do my best to hold him until help comes. You may be sure of that."
"Then get into the car," ordered the deputy briefly. "The back part of the car is for you youngsters. That reminds me. We don't know each other's names. Mine's Simmons."
The other deputy's name proved to be Valden. The boys quickly introduced themselves.
Away went the car, over the rough roads. To avoid sending warning too far ahead the lights were turned low. On account of the condition of this rough forest road the speed was slow.
"If Tag hasn't been to your camp within three nights," said Mr. Simmons, leaning back while Mr. Valden ran the car, "then it's because he isn't in this neighborhood. So we'll travel on a few miles before we stop to do any real searching."
"I don't understand how you can expect to find anyone out here in the night time," Dick observed.
"I've some plans in my mind," was all the explanation Simmons offered.
When the road became a little better, Valden put on a bit more speed.
"Better slow down," advised Simmons presently. "There's a bridge ahead that isn't any, too strong."
That bridge was closer than the deputy thought. Just then the automobile top brushed heavily against foliage in making a wooded turn in the road.
"There's the bridge!" yelled Simmons almost excitedly. "Slow down—-stop!"
Valden tried to obey, but the bridge was altogether too close for stopping in time. Out over the planks ran the car.
R-r-rip! Crash!
Some of the boards were already missing from the rude bridge. Others gave way almost like paper. Down through the structure fell the car, then landed with a splash, overturning to the accompaniment of cries of fright and of pain from its occupants.
As the water in the creek was barely three feet deep, Officer Valden sprang from the car, holding his right hand, which had been caught in the brake mechanism.
Deputy Simmons appeared to be uninjured.
Greg Holmes went under water, his head striking a stone violently enough to bring a splash of blood to his forehead.
Dave Darrin's head struck against the side of the car, bringing a cry of pain from him.
Yet, though he was dizzy from the concussion, Darry displayed the coolest head of any of them in the first few moments.
"Where's Dick?" he called, when he saw the others accounted for. Then Dave wrenched off one of the lamps, holding it to aid his vision.
"There he is!" shouted Darrin, as his foot touched something."His head is under water. Up with him, quickly!"
Dave brought the rays of the lantern to bear more directly, whileSimmons sprang to the rescue. Greg, too, joined in.
"He's pinned down by the car!" gasped Deputy Simmons after finding Prescott's submerged body and giving it a hard tug. "Valden, help me lift the car on this side! You two boys pull your friend out when we lift the car. Now!"
Though Deputy Valden was able to employ only his left hand, he used it with all his strength.
"Here he comes," panted Dave, tugging at Dick's body with all his might. "Gracious! I hope he isn't drowned!"
Greg, too, exerted all his strength. Though it seemed ages to the anxious ones it was really but the work of a few seconds.
As Dick's head emerged above the surface of the water he gave a quick gasp. Then another.
"Oh, the air seems good," he moaned. "I tried to keep from opening my mouth or breathing, but it nearly burst my lungs!"
"Are you all right now?" asked Darry, holding his chum up.
"If you'll help me to the bank I shall be, I think," answeredPrescott weakly.
"Why, what——-" began Dave anxiously.
"I was badly bruised by being pinned under the car," Dick admitted, in a still weaker voice.
"No bones broken, eh?" broke in Greg Holmes.
"I—-I think not," Dick answered.
"Don't keep him talking," ordered Dave sternly. "Put in your strength and help me lift good old Dick up into the road."
"I guess I can do that job better," interposed Simmons, who had let go of the car. "Let me have the boy."
Dick was borne up to the road in the deputy's strong arms.
"Can you stand?" asked Simmons.
"Put me on my feet, sir, and let me see," begged Dick.
He took a few steps, wincing, his face white.
"Dick, old fellow," faltered Dave, "I'm afraid you've broken a leg."
"No; or I couldn't stand on my legs and walk," Prescott replied."It hurts up here, where the side of the car rested."
He placed one hand on his right hip.
"Then your hip is broken," groaned Darry.
"I don't believe that, either," argued Dick. "If my hip were broken I don't believe I could move my leg or step."
He took two or three steps, wincing painfully, to show what he could do.
"Nothing but a hip bruise, or I'm guessing wrong," smiled the white-faced sufferer.
"In any case, you're meat for a doctor," put in Deputy Simmons, with rough sympathy.
"All right," replied Dick. "I'll walk to the doctor's office.How many miles is it?"
"About fourteen," replied Simmons. "I'll bring the doctor to you. It's only about six miles to Ross' farm. I'll borrow his car. Then I can make good time getting the doctor and bringing him here. But you'd better sit down before I start."
"Aren't you going to do anything with the car in the creek?" inquiredPrescott.
"What can we do?" demanded the deputy laconically. "There isn't muscle enough in this crowd to hoist the car up the bank. Anyway, her engine is damaged beyond a doubt. No, no, Prescott, you sit down, or lie down, and the rest of you had better wait here until I bring help. I can be back in three hours at the latest. Darrin, will you place one of the lamps at either end of where the bridge was? That may save some farmer from driving in on top of the car."
Dave complied willingly enough. Then Simmons turned to Prescott.
"Now, you sit down, young man," ordered the deputy.
"I'd rather not," Dick replied. "I haven't anything worse than a bruise. If I keep too quiet the injury will stiffen all the more. I must move my hip a bit, or I may be in for a worse time."
"That may be true," nodded the deputy thoughtfully. "Well, be good, all of you. I'll be back again, as soon as possible."
With that he strode down into the creek, wading through and coming out at the farther side. Then he was lost among the shadows.
Though it hurt to keep on his feet, Dick, after some minutes, found that he could move about a little more freely, despite the pain.
"That shows there are no bones broken," he assured his distressed chums.
"Does it?" asked Darrin. "Hang it, I wish I knew more about injuries of this sort. Then I might be able to help you."
"Why, I may be all right, and able to sprint in another half hour," smiled Dick.
"Yes, you will!" jeered Greg. "Dick, you won't run for a few days to come, anyway."
"A nice lot we are, to set out to aid the law's officers," remarkedDave disgustedly. "Dick can take only a half a step per minute.Mr. Valden can use only one hand. Greg's head looks gory. Thelot of us couldn't scare a baby now!"
"I can still say, boo!" Prescott laughed.
"Is it wise to try to do so much walking?" questioned Darry, as Greg went back to the creek to wash the blood from the shallow cut on his forehead.
"Yes; for I don't want to grow stiff until I'm where I can take care of myself," Dick answered, taking a few more steps. "No; don't help me. I want to move alone, and I'm strong enough for that."
So Dave threw himself on the grass to rest until he bethought himself that, wet as they all were, it might be a good idea to build a fire for drying purposes.
He busied himself in that way, while Dick started slowly, verypainfully, down the road. Only a step at a time could he go.Greg, returning, ran after him, but Prescott sent him back, soHolmes stretched himself on the ground near the fire.
At times Dick found he could move about very easily. Then the hip would stiffen and he would be obliged to lean against a tree for a few moments.
For ten minutes or longer he moved thus down the road.
"I'd better be getting back soon, I guess," he mused, "or I may find it too much of a job."
Looking back, as he turned, he could just make out the glow of the fire, very dim, indeed, from where he stood.
"I've got a beacon," smiled Dick, as he rested against a tree trunk just off the road. He was about to take a step when a figure glided stealthily by.
"By all that's astonishing, it's Tag Mosher!" Prescott gasped. He clutched at the tree trunk again, watching, for Tag had halted and appeared to be peering hard through the foliage at the fire some distance away.
"I wouldn't want him to find me, now!" thought Dick, a cold chill running over him at the thought of Tag's desperate savagery.
But at that moment Prescott accidentally made a sound, which, slight though it was, caught young Mosher's ear.
In a twinkling Tag wheeled about, listening, peering. Then, straight toward Prescott he came.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" demanded young Mosher harshly.
"Yes," Prescott admitted, speaking as steadily as he could, though his heart sank for the moment. He knew that Tag would have time to give him a beating that would be doubly severe in his present condition of weakness and pain. That beating could be given in a few swift seconds, and the help within reach of Dick's voice could not arrive until young Mosher had had time to slip away among the trees of the forest that he knew so well. "What do you want with me?" demanded Tag, bringing his leering face closer to Prescott's.