, we know well enough where to get hold of Hibbert's party,"
Dick went on.

"Do we?" asked Greg.

"Certainly," cried Dick triumphantly. "Just send a note to Mr.
Colquitt in care of Blinders' Detective Agency. I'm going to
write the note now!"

Dick was half-way to the tent when Darry called after him:

"By the way, in what city is the Blinders' agency located?"

Dick halted short, looking blank.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Do you fellows?"

None of them did. Then they waited until the others came in from
the pool. But none of them knew what city had the honor to shelter
the Blinders' agency.

"I'll write the note, anyway," Dick insisted. "If I can't do
better, I'll put the address as simply the United States, with
a request on the envelope for the post-office people to find the
right city and deliver the letter."

"Go ahead with the letter," urged Tom. "After dinner I'll walk
over to Five Corners and mail the letter. Incidentally, I'll
make inquiries over there and see whether anyone knows the city
in which the Blinders' crowd has its headquarters."

So Dick wrote the letter, while others were preparing the noon
meal. At one o'clock in the afternoon Tom started, on his round-trip
tramp of twenty-two miles.

"A trip like that will take the place of training for one half
day," Reade explained.

Hazelton offered to go with him, but Tom declined on the ground
that he could get over ground faster without Harry.

It was an hour after dark when Reade returned that night, hot,
tired, dusty and hungry. But he had found the correct address
of the agency and the letter had started on its journey.

"Your supper is all ready," Dick announced.

"And I'm ready to meet any supper more than half way," Reade retorted.
"Just a minute, until I wash up."

The other five boys sat and chatted by the table while Tom ate.

"Dan, won't you throw a lot more wood on the fire?" asked Dick,
as the meal came to a close. "We ought to have the camp better
lighted than this."

Greg sprang to help Dalzell. Soon the flames leaped up, throwing
their ruddy, cheerful glow over the camp and making dancing shadows
beyond under the trees.

While they were still chatting over the day's doings, steps were
heard, followed by the arrival in camp of two rough-looking,
stern-faced men. Dave Darrin sprang to pick up a club.

"You boys haven't been doing anything wrong, have you?" questioned
one of the men, with a trace of a