waist until Prescott felt dizzy. In that extremity the
Gridley boy worked a neat little trip. Down they went, rolling
over and over, fighting like wild cats until Mosher secured the
upper hand and sat heavily on the high school boy.

"I gave you all the chance I could," growled Mosher, planting
blow after blow on Dick's head, face and chest, "and you wouldn't
help yourself anyway. Now, you'll take all your medicine, and
next time you meet me you'll know enough to leave me alone."

Held as he was, without really a show, Dick Prescott fought as
long as he could, and with desperate courage. But at last he
felt forced to yell:

"Fellows! Gridley! Here---quickly!"

"They're too far away, and, besides, they're asleep," jeered Mosher,
to the accompaniment of three more hard blows. "Now, I reckon
you've had enough to know your own business after this and let
mine alone. If I had any cord I'd tie you here. As it is-----"

Leaping suddenly to his feet, Mosher turned and ran swiftly through
the woods.

Dick badly hurt, yet as determined as ever, pursued for a few
score of yards. Then realizing that he could hear no sound of
the other's steps to guide him in the right direction, the high
school boy halted.

"I may as well give it up this time," he said to himself grimly.
"Besides, my main job is to guard the camp. If I go roaming
through the woods, Mosher, as he calls himself, will double back
on the camp and clean out our provisions while I'm groping out
here in the dark."

So Dick paused only long enough to make sure of his course back.
Then he plodded along, wincing with the pain of many blows that
he had received.

"I'm lucky, anyway, that I didn't get an eye bunged up," he reflected.
"I smart and I ache, but I can see straight, and I don't believe
I've received any blow that will disfigure me for the next few
days. My, what a steam hammer that fellow is in a fight! I wonder
if he really is the son of that hard character called Bill Mosher?"

As Dick neared the camp he stepped more softly. He wanted to
see whether Mosher really had come back.

But no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp.
Dick walked in more confidently. His first care was to examine
the food supply.

"Nothing gone," Dick murmured. Then he looked about for a stick
large enough to serve as a weapon at need. While doing so his
glance fell upon an axe.

"I wouldn't use that," Prescott told himself. "But there