take a hand in this,"
whispered Harry. "He is a queer chap--has scruples about doing certain
things. I thought he would object to hooking out a turk."

"Oh, such a thing as this isn't really stealing," protested Robinson.
"It is different."

"In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot. If
we're caught it will be called stealing."

"Oh, well, a fellow who won't do anything like this is too good for this
world. He's got wings sprouting."

"You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie," returned Harry,
rather warmly. "He's proved that. Any man has a right to his ideas, and
if he thinks a thing wrong he's justified in refusing to have anything
to do with it."

"Perhaps so; but Merriwell is right on the limit now."

"How?"

"He will not drink, he does not smoke, and I never have heard him cuss."

"Does it make a fellow a man to drink and smoke and swear? I tell you
you'll go a long distance before you find a fellow who is any more of a
man than Frank Merriwell. I was dead lucky when I got him for a
roommate."

"You're stuck on him. I say he is all right, but he is on the limit. I
believe the fellows would like him better if he would break over once in
a while."

"I doubt it. But it is awful still around here. I wonder where that dog
can be? It would be a surprise if the fellows got away with the turks
without making any noise at--"

There was a sudden hubbub, a terrible squalling and squawking, the
barking of a dog, and the report of a gun!

CHAPTER XX.

A HOT CHASE.

"My stars!" gasped Harry. "There's trouble, sure enough!"

"I should remark!" palpitated Robinson. "I'll bet a dollar one of the
fellows is full of shot!"

"And somebody is in danger of being full of teeth directly. Come, this
is our time to create a diversion."

Then Harry let himself out. He whooped like a wild Indian and pranced
right up toward the house. Robinson followed the good example, but they
did not seem very successful in attracting attention to themselves.

Two dark figures were seen scudding through the orchard, and then a man
came out of the house, slamming the door and shouting:

"Sick 'em, Tige--sick the pesky rascals! Chaw 'em up! Don't let 'em git
erway! Take 'em, dorg!"

The dog was doing his duty in the vicinity of one of the sheds, but his
barking suddenly turned to howls of pain, and several blows were
distinctly heard.

Despite the two yelling and dancing lads in the road,