l, or at least they were supposed
to be, and another was that there were too many of the captors. Happy
Harry's crowd never numbered so many.

"Maybe they're highwaymen," thought our hero, as he was dragged along
"But that can't be," he reasoned further. "If they wanted to rob me
they'd have done it back there in the road, and not brought me off here
in the woods. Besides, I haven't anything for them to steal."

Suddenly Tom stumbled over a projecting root, and nearly fell, dragging
along with him the person who had hold of his left arm.

"Look out there! What's the matter with you?" exclaimed one of the
throng quickly, and at the sound of the voice Tom started.

"Andy Foger!" cried the young inventor, as he recovered himself, for he
had recognized the voice of the red-haired bully. "What do you mean by
holding me up in this way?" he demanded.

"Quiet!" urged a voice in his ear, and the tones were unfamiliar.
"Mention no names!"

"I'm on to your game!" retorted Tom. "I know you're here, Andy, and Sam
and Pete; and Jack Reynolds and Sid Holton," and he named two rather
loose-charactered lads, who were often in the company of Andy and his
cronies. "You'd better quit this nonsense," Tom went on. "I'll cause
the arrest of all of you if you make trouble for me. I know who you are
now!"

"You think you do," answered the voice in his ear, and the young
inventor concluded that it must be some lad whom he did not know. "Nor
is this nonsense," the other went on. "You are about to receive the
punishment due you."

Our hero did not answer, but he was doing some hard thinking. He
wondered why Andy and his crowd had captured him.

Suddenly the blackness of the woods was illuminated by the fitful gleam
of a distant fire. Tom could see more plainly now, and he managed to
count about ten dusky figures hurrying along, four being close to him,
to prevent his escape, and the others running on ahead. The light
became stronger, and, a moment later the prisoner and his captors
emerged into a little clearing, where a fire was burning. Two figures,
masked with black cloth, as were all in the crowd, stood about the
blaze, putting on sticks of wood.

"Did you get him?" asked one of these figures eagerly.

"Yes, they got me, Sam Snedecker," answered Tom quickly, recognizing
Sam's tones. "And they'll wish they hadn't before I'm done with them."

"Quiet!" ordered an unknown voice. "Members of the Deep Forest Throng,
the prisoner is