whistled back over the snow.

[Illustration: "Halt, there!"]

Constable Dock halted, dropping to one knee, for one of the leaden
pellets had gone close to his left ear. One of the bullets hit a tree
just behind Prescott with a spiteful chug. Dick felt queer, but he was
too much in motion to stop himself just then.

"Stop or I'll bring you down!" bellowed Constable Dock, taking careful
aim. An instant later the officer fired, but at that very instant Mr.
Fits skimmed off at a sharp angle with his late course, and so he
escaped uninjured.

A derisive shout came back from the fugitive. He was now out of range of
the officer's revolver, and knew it. The constable, too, realized the
fact. He started in pursuit as rapidly as he could make it, calling to
his deputy to follow.

"Going to join the chase?" called Dave to Dick.

"What's the use?" panted Prescott, halting. "Mr. Fits has a good start
and can make fine speed. We could catch only the constable."

So the Grammar School boys slowed down. Constable Dock and his deputy
were now almost out of sight among the trees, and no eye among the boys
could see how much in the lead Mr. Fits was.

"They'll never catch him," sighed Dave.

"I'm afraid not," agreed Dick.

"And so, one of these nights, Mr. Fits will come back, ready to pay us
back for our plan to turn him over to the police."

"We took care of him before, didn't we?" Prescott wanted to know.

"Yes; but Fits was alone, then, and the blizzard kept him from getting
away to get help of his own choice kind. Now he can travel as much as he
likes. We'll hear from him again, all right," Dave Darrin wound up.

"If we do, then we'll find a way to take care of him once more," hinted
Prescott.

"Or we might vote that we've had a jolly good lot of camping, and go
home," suggested Harry.

"What? Let that rascal chase us out of the woods?" flared Dick. "All who
want to go home may start. I'll stay here as long as I want to, even if
I have to camp alone."

"You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone,"
offered Dave.

"Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that
Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry
that he returned."

From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering
forth cautiously.

"Say, you fellows," hailed Hen complainingly, "I thought you were never
coming back. I thought you had all got scared and ran away