"We're out for rest more than for fun," d.i.c.k replied. "The walk and the rest this afternoon are all by way of preparing for the big game to-morrow afternoon."

"But wouldn't there be more rest about it if we had a little fun?"

Spoff insisted.

"Perhaps," d.i.c.k nodded. "What's your idea of fun?"

"Why not play 'Indians and Whites'?" put in Toby Ross eagerly.

"That would be just the sort of game for to-day," Dave approved.

"That's what I say," nodded Tom.

"d.i.c.k, you're used to these woods," Spoff went on. "You be the big Injun---the big chief. Choose two more of the fellows to be Injuns with you, and the rest will be whites."

"All right," nodded d.i.c.k. "Dave and Tom can go with me. Who'll be your captain?"

"Greg!" cried Spoff.

"Holmesy," said Ross in the same breath.

So Greg Holmes was chosen captain, to command the whites.

"Give us the full six minutes, Greg, won't you?" d.i.c.k called, as he and his two fellow "Injuns" prepared to enter the deep woods.

"Of course I will," Greg nodded. "You don't think I'd cheat, do you?"

Those of the boys who were proud owners of watches hurriedly consulted their timepieces. Greg retained his in his hand.

"Now," called d.i.c.k, and away he started, followed by Braves Darrin and Reade.

As the Gridley boys had their own version of "Indians and Whites,"

a description of the game may as well be given here.

The Indians always chose a chief, the whites a captain. Chief and braves started away at the call of time. Six minutes later, to the second, the whites started in pursuit. The whites must keep in one band, as must also the Indians. Yet, in trailing, the whites could spread out, while the Indians must keep together.

Though the Indians were allowed to double on the trail, they were not permitted to run. Nothing faster than an ordinary walk was permitted to them, unless they found themselves sighted by the whites.

Moreover, owing to the lack of skill on the part of the whites in following a trail, the Indians were required to walk as usual, making no special efforts to hide their footprints.

The whites were permitted to pursue at any gait. If they sighted the Indians, then they were expected to yell by way of warning.

If more than half the Indians were captured before the expiration of an hour from the first departure of the Indians, then the whites won. Otherwise the Indians were victors.

d.i.c.k walked in advance, Dave and Tom side by side just behind him.

"We must try to think up some way to fool the fellows," muttered Reade.

"Halt!" warned d.i.c.k, when they were barely two minutes away from the starting point.

Darrin and Reade stopped in their tracks.

"See that low-hanging limb, and the bushes just beyond?" asked young Prescott.

"Of course," a.s.sented Dave.

"We'll go on about a minute further," suggested d.i.c.k, who had kept his watch in hand from the outset. "Then we'll walk backward, stop here, grab that limb and swing ourselves over past the bushes.

That ought to throw the fellows off the track and get 'em all mixed up."

"If the whites are spread enough they'll probably be outside those bushes," remarked Reade. "Then they'll find where the trail changes."

"That's one of the chances that we have to take," smiled d.i.c.k.

"Let's see if we can't make it work."

Onward again they went, halting when Prescott gave the word.

Walking backward, they were soon at the oak with the low-hanging limb.

"I'll try it first," proposed d.i.c.k, "and see if it's easy enough.

Don't walk around here and make enough tracks to call the attention of the whites to the fact that we stopped here."

d.i.c.k made a bound, catching the limb fairly. Three or four times he swung himself back and forth, until he had gained enough momentum.

Then he let go, on the last swing, landing on his feet well behind the bushes. Dave came next, Tom following. Now the three Indians hurried on again, Big Injun d.i.c.k in the lead as before.

"If we do throw them off, Greg's fighting men will have a hard job hitting the trail again," chuckled Tom.

"If they don't find our trail, d.i.c.k, where are you headed for?"

whispered Dave.

"For the road and home," laughed d.i.c.k. "Then, while they're trying to figure out where we've gone, we fellows will be washing up for supper."

"I'd like to hear Old Greg grumbling if the 'double' does throw 'em off the trail altogether," grinned Darrin. "d.i.c.k, I think we've more than half a chance to get away."

"We have about four chances out of five of slipping away from Greg's soldiers," predicted Prescott.

For ten minutes d.i.c.k and his two braves plodded on. There were, as yet, no audible sounds of pursuit.

"We caught 'em, surely enough, that time," chuckled Tom. "Going to hit for the road now, d.i.c.k?"

"We can't reach the road until our hour is up; we're bound to keep to the woods," Prescott replied. "However, you'll note that I am taking a course that will gradually lead us to the road."

"Right-o," nodded Reade, after taking a look at their surroundings.

All the members of d.i.c.k & Co. had spent so much of their time in the woods that they knew every foot of the way.

"I wonder where that valiant band of whites is, anyway?" muttered Dave. "I haven't heard a sound of them."

"You may hear their battle yell any minute," d.i.c.k whispered.

"Be careful not to talk loudly enough to give them any clue."

For two or three minutes more d.i.c.k led the way. Of a sudden he halted---right up against a huge surprise. For the boys had suddenly broken into a little circular clearing, not much more than thirty feet in diameter. Near the center of this clearing, under a flimsy shelter he had made of poles and branches, crouched Amos Garwood.

He was at work over a low bench built of a board across two boxes.