Tyndall.

"Tell 'em that we appreciate their kindness," laughed Dick.

"All right. I'll tell them---something," murmured Mr. Tyndall,
as he turned away.

"Up, all of you fellows!" commanded Dick Prescott. "This doesn't
look very gracious on our part, when an entertainment has been
arranged for us. We'll go, and attend to our aches to-morrow."
But when the referee of the afternoon noted how stiffly they
all moved he found himself filled with compassion.

"Don't you try to come over, boys," he urged. "You're too stiff
and sore to-night. Some people, myself included, don't realize
that fifteen-year-old boys haven't the bodily stamina of men of
twenty-five. You did a splendid bit of work this afternoon,
and now you're entitled to your rest."

"We'll get over there, somehow," Dick promised.

"No; you won't. Don't you try it. The Gridley visitors would
be brutes to try to drag you out to-night. I shan't let you go,
and I shall tell the home folks that you're enjoying a well-won
rest."

"But don't you let any of the Preston High School fellows know
how crippled you found us," begged Dave Darrin.

"What would you care, if I did?" laughed Mr. Tyndall. "You fellows
won the race, didn't you? And I'll wager that the Preston boys
are feeling a whole lot worse than you are. Don't come! Good
night."

"Tyndall is a brick to let us off," sighed Tom gratefully, as
he sank down once more.

Later on Dick & Co. emerged from the tent, started a fire, and
had supper, though they did not pay great attention to the meal.

"I wouldn't want to race every day," grunted Reade, as he squatted
near the fire after supper.

"If we did," Dick retorted, "we'd speedily get over these aches
and this stiffness."

For an hour or so the boys remained about the fire. Dan Dalzell
was the first to slip away to his blankets. Hazelton followed.
Then the movement became general. Soon all were sound asleep.

Nor did any sounds reach or disturb them for hours. Not one of
the sleepers stirred enough to know that the sky gradually became
overcast and that there was a distant rumbling of thunder.

Hardly had the campfire burned down into the general blackness
of the night when an automobile runabout, moving slowly and silently,
stole along the roadway.

In it sat the son of Squire Ripley. Fred, having brooded for
hours over the failure of his scheme to make Dick & Co. lose the
canoe race, had at last decided to pay a stealthy, n