"You would, if you knew what I want to talk with you about," Prescott
continued.

"Is it about food?" demanded the young stranger grimly.

"Then it's about jail," sneered the other harshly.

"Why about jail?" asked Dick.

"Because that's where you'd like to see me!"

"Why should I want to see you in jail?" Prescott demanded.

"Because I've been visiting your kitchen," leered the other.
"But you can't stop me. Not all of your crowd can stop me!"

"Why do you wish to clean us out of food?" Prescott asked.

"Because I know how to eat," replied the young stranger significantly.

"Is that the only reason you have for trying to clean us all out
of food?"

"Why should I have any other reason? And why isn't being hungry
a good enough reason?" counter-queried the prowler.

"It has struck me," smiled Dick, "that perhaps you don't want
us in these woods, anyway."

"I don't just hanker after your company," admitted the stranger,
with gruff candor.

"Are we bothering you any here?"

"No matter," came the sullen retort.

"To return to the first subject, that matter about which I want
to talk with you-----"

"Not to-night," growled the young prowler. Turning on his heel,
he started to walk away.

But Dick kept close at his side.

"Shake my trail, you!" ordered the other gruffly. "If you don't
you'll be sorry!"

With that the stranger broke into a loping run. At first glance
this gait didn't seem to be a swift one, but it was the long,
easy, loping stride of the wolf in motion. Young Prescott found
that he had to exert himself in order to keep up with the other.

"Go back to your shack!" ordered the prowler.

"Hold on a minute, so that I can talk with you," urged Prescott.

By this time they were at a considerable distance from the camp.
Suddenly the prowler halted, wheeling about like a flash, glaring
into young Prescott's eyes.

"Now, I'll learn you!" growled the prowler.

"Do you mean that you'll _teach_ me?" queried Prescott. "What?"

"I'll learn you," growled the other, "not to keep on banging around
me when I don't want you!"

"Do you happen to have any idea," Dick persisted coolly, "that
your name is probably Page, and that you undoubtedly have a very
rich father, who is trying to find you?"

"Where did you read that fairy tale?" sneered the prowler.

"Partly on your skin to-day," Dick rejoined, "when I came upon
you as you were dressing near that pool."

"Stop kidding me!" comm