"Now, quit your fooling," Prescott advised, "or I'll let out a whoop that will bring five more fellows here. Do you know what they would do to you? They'd just about lynch you---schoolboy fashion. Do you know what a schoolboy lynching is?"

"No," sullenly answered the stranger, as he started to renew the struggle.

"You will know, soon, if you don't stop your stupid fooling,"

d.i.c.k told him.

"Hang you, kid. Get off of me, and keep your hands away, or I'll hurt you more than you were ever hurt in your life, and I'll get away with it, too, before your friends come!"

So lively did the struggle become that d.i.c.k was obliged to use his clenched fist against the side of the prowler's jaw. That quieted the stranger for an instant.

Leaping lightly from his troublesome captive, d.i.c.k s.n.a.t.c.hed up a heavy club of firewood that lay nearby.

"That's right," d.i.c.k agreed, swinging the club, as the other rose to a sitting posture. "Sit up, but don't try to get up any farther unless you want to feel this stake, which is tougher than those other steaks!"

Prescott kept nimbly out of reach of the other's arms, though he took pains to keep himself where he could jump in with a handy blow at need.

"Now," remarked the high school boy, "you are getting an idea as to who's boss."

"Well, what do you want?" asked the other sullenly. He had already drawn down a tattered, battered old cap so that it screened his face.

"I want to get a better look at you," Prescott replied. "I want to be able to know you anywhere. Tan colored woollen shirt; brown corduroy trousers; low-cut black shoes; cap defies description.

Now, let me see your face."

With that d.i.c.k bent quickly, picking up an oil-soaked bunch of f.a.ggots that he had prepared before the others had turned in for the night and dropped them upon the campfire.

Like a flash he was back, close to the stranger. "Don't you dare try to get up!" d.i.c.k threatened, swinging the club.

"Hit me, if you dare!" leered the other. "I'm going to get upright now!"

With that he made a lurching move forward. Prescott swung the club, though of course he did not intend to beat the stranger about the head.

His indecision left him off his guard. The stranger closed in on the club, wrenching it from Prescott's hand and tossing it far away. But d.i.c.k dropped, wrapping his arms about the other's legs and throwing him.

Just as the two went down in a crash the fire, which had been smoking, now blazed up.

"I'll show you!" roared the stranger, now thoroughly aroused, as he grappled with Prescott and the pair rolled in fierce embrace over the ground.

d.i.c.k was not afraid, but he didn't want this night hawk to get away, so he bellowed l.u.s.tily:

"Fellows! Gridley! Gr-r-r-id-ley! Quick!"

"Stop that!" hissed the stranger, who was now easily uppermost, and holding Prescott with ease.

"Quick!" yelled d.i.c.k.

The stranger grasped the high school boy by the throat, then as swiftly changed his mind, for someone was stirring in the tent.

Up leaped the prowler, yet, swift as he was, d.i.c.k was also on his feet.

"Keep back!" warned the prowler, as he turned to run.

"You're mine---all mine!" vaunted young Prescott, making a gallant leap at the unknown foe.

But that brag was uttered just a few seconds too soon.

CHAPTER VI

DANGER COMES ON THE HOOF

Smack!

Against d.i.c.k's face came the palm of the larger youth's right hand. It was the old, familiar trick of "pushing in his face."

So quickly did that manoeuvre come that d.i.c.k, caught off his balance, was shoved backward until he tripped and fell.

Then the stranger vanished with the speed of one accustomed to flight through the woods.

His eyes full of sand from the fall, d.i.c.k struggled to his feet, rubbing his eyelids, just as Dave Darrin came running up.

"What was it?" demanded Dave.

"Come on! We ought to catch him yet!" cried young Prescott, turning and running into the woods. But d.i.c.k's eyes were not quite as keen as they had been, and Darry, once he had the general direction, outstripped his chum in the race.

Once away from the blazing fire of oil-soaked wood, however, the boys found themselves at a disadvantage in the woods. At last Darry stopped, listening. Then, hearing sounds, he wheeled, dashing at a figure.

"Get out with you, Darry!" laughed Prescott good-humoredly.

"I thought you were-----"

"The other fellow! Yes; I know," laughed d.i.c.k.

"Where is he? Listen!"

But only the night sounds of the woods answered them.

"We'd better put for camp," whispered d.i.c.k, "or that fellow will slip around us and pillage the supplies before we get there."

Dave started back at a dog trot, d.i.c.k following at a more leisurely gait. Both were soon by the campfire again.

"Was it the same fellow?" demanded Darry, in a low voice.

"It must have been," d.i.c.k nodded, "though you didn't see him at all when you encountered him, and I didn't get a view of his face.

But he had on a tan colored shirt. He also had on brown corduroy trousers and low-cut black shoes. He kept his torn cap pulled down over his eyes so that I couldn't get a look at his face that would enable me to know it again if I saw it."

"Hang the fellow!" growled Darry. "Does he take us for a human meal ticket with six coupons?"