DICK GRAPPLES IN THE DARK
At last the meal was finished, this time without the help of the
prowler. Dave and Dan washed the dishes, while Tom and Harry
carried water enough to fill the hogshead that had been brought
along as part of their camp equipment.
At the same time, Dick and Greg unstrapped and set up the six
light-weight folding canvas cots, standing them in a row in the
tent. Next they arranged the bedding that had been loaned by
mothers at home, and made up the six beds. Enough fuel to start
a fire in the morning was also brought in.
"And now, what did we come out here in the woods for?" inquired
Dick smilingly.
"To get our fill of sleep," yawned Tom.
"To eat," suggested Hazelton hopefully.
"To fish," added Dave Darrin promptly.
"Just to lie down and take things easy," declared Danny Grin.
"As for me," piped up Greg Holmes, "I'm not going to bother my
head, to-night, as to why we came here. I'm going to get a ten
hour nap, and in the morning I'll try to solve the riddle for
you, Dick, of why we came here."
A tired lot of boys, not really ready, as yet, to admit that they
were used up, lay down on their cots without undressing. They
intended, later, to get into their pajamas.
A single lantern, its wick turned low, hung from one of the posts.
Prescott did not trust himself to lie down, for his eyes, despite
his efforts to keep awake, were heavy, and he did not want to
sleep for some time yet.
Within ten minutes Darrin alone had his eyes open, and even he
was making a valiant struggle against sleep. At last, however,
he yielded, and soon settled into sound slumber.
"They're off in another world," smiled Dick, as he listened to
the deep breathing of his chums; then he slipped away from his
cot.
From under a box in one corner of the tent he took out a large
cup of coffee that he had hidden some time earlier. It was still
warm and he drank it with relish, though his main purpose in using
the beverage was to make sure of keeping himself awake.
His next move was to extinguish the lantern. Now he made his
way to the bucket of water and basin. Dashing the cold water
into his face, and wetting his eyes well with it, Prescott took
a few deep breaths. He now felt equal to keeping awake for some
time.
Outside, by this time, all was darkness, save where a few embers
of the recent camp fire glowed dully.
Dick threw himself down, resting his head on his elbows, in the
doorway of the tent.
"Now, don't you dare go to sleep!" he ordered himself, repeating
the command frequently as a means of aiding himself to keep his
eyelids from closing.
"You keep awake!" he half snorted, as he felt drowsiness getting
nearer. He pinched himself, inflicting more than a little pain.
At last, however, the young leader of Dick & Co. found that his
drowsiness had passed for the time being, like the sentinel in
war time.
"Now, I think I can keep awake until daylight, if I have to,"
muttered young Prescott to himself. "At daylight it won't be
so very mean to wake one of the other fellows and let him take
my place."
Yet, after an hour had passed, Dick was almost doomed to discover
that nature had some rights and knew how to assert them.
His eyes had just closed when he awoke with a start.
Someone was treading lightly past the wall of the tent, coming
toward the door. Dick had barely time to glide back behind the
flap of the tent when the unknown someone stopped at the doorway.
It was too dark to make out anything distinctly under the canvas,
but the stranger listened to the combined snorings of five of
the six boys, then chuckled softly.
"Oh! Funny, is it, to think that we're all asleep, and that you
may help yourself at will to the food that cost us so much money!"
thought Dick wrathfully. The stranger hearing no sound from the
apparently sleeping camp soon passed on in the direction of the
fire.
Here much of the provisions had been stacked in the packing case
cupboards, for the reason that to store food in the tent would
seriously curtail the space that the boys wanted for comfort.
Out of the tent crept Dick, crouching. His heart was beating
a trifle faster than usual, perhaps, for he saw at once that the
prowler was larger than himself.
Before one of the box cupboards the prowler halted and rummaged
inside with his hands.
"I guess this is where I need a light," mused the stranger, half
aloud.
"Pardon me, but what do you want with a light?" inquired Prescott,
at the same time pushing the stranger forward on his face. Dick
now seated himself on the other's shoulders.
"Don't make a fuss," Prescott advised. "I like to think myself
a gentleman, and I don't want to muss you up too much."
The stranger laughed. It was an easy, confident laugh that destroyed
a bit of the Gridley boy's sense of mastery.
"What are you doing, up at this time of night?" asked the stranger.
"Minding my own business, in my own camp," Dick replied easily.
"And what are you doing here? Whose business are you minding?"
"My own, too, I reckon," replied the prowler more gruffly.
"In other words, attending to your hunger?" pressed Prescott.
"I'm looking out that I don't have too much hunger to-morrow,"
came the now half sullen answer.
"Is this the way you usually get your food?" Dick demanded dryly.
"This is the way I get most of it," came the reply.
"Stealing it, eh?"
"Well, what of it?" came the sulky retort. "The world owes me
a living."
"To be sure it does," Dick answered blithely. "The world owes
every man a living. That's just why you don't need to steal.
Just sail in and collect that living by means of hard work.
Are you the chap who collected our steaks this evening?"
"None of your business. And, now, if you've given me as much
chatter as you want, get off my shoulders!"
"I've a little more to say to you yet," Dick responded.
"Get off my shoulders!"
"I will---when I'm through with you," Dick agreed.
"You'll get off at once, or I'll roll you off!" came the now angry
threat.
"Try it," Dick urged coolly.
Right then and there the stranger did try it. He "heaved," then
attempted to roll and grapple with the young camper. He would
have succeeded, too, had Prescott relied upon his strength alone.
But Dick employed both hands in getting a neck-hold that hurt.
"Now, quit your fooling," Prescott advised, "or I'll let out a
whoop that will bring five more fellows here. Do you know what
they would do to you? They'd just about lynch you---schoolboy
fashion. Do you know what a schoolboy lynching is?"
"No," sullenly answered the stranger, as he started to renew the
struggle.
"You will know, soon, if you don't stop your stupid fooling,"
Dick told him.
"Hang you, kid. Get off of me, and keep your hands away, or I'll
hurt you more than you were ever hurt in your life, and I'll get
away with it, too, before your friends come!"
So lively did the struggle become that Dick was obliged to use
his clenched fist against the side of the prowler's jaw. That
quieted the stranger for an instant.
Leaping lightly from his troublesome captive, Dick snatched up
a heavy club of firewood that lay nearby.
"That's right," Dick agreed, swinging the club, as the other rose
to a sitting posture. "Sit up, but don't try to get up any farther
unless you want to feel this stake, which is tougher than those
other steaks!"
Prescott kept nimbly out of reach of the other's arms, though
he took pains to keep himself where he could jump in with a handy
blow at need.
"Now," remarked the high school boy, "you are getting an idea
as to who's boss."
"Well, what do you want?" asked the other sullenly. He had already
drawn down a tattered, battered old cap so that it screened his
face.
"I want to get a better look at you," Prescott replied. "I want
to be able to know you anywhere. Tan colored woollen shirt; brown
corduroy trousers; low-cut black shoes; cap defies description.
Now, let me see your face."
With that Dick bent quickly, picking up an oil-soaked bunch of
faggots that he had prepared before the others had turned in for
the night and dropped them upon the campfire.
Like a flash he was back, close to the stranger. "Don't you dare
try to get up!" Dick threatened, swinging the club.
"Hit me, if you dare!" leered the other. "I'm going to get upright
now!"
With that he made a lurching move forward. Prescott swung the
club, though of course he did not intend to beat the stranger
about the head.
His indecision left him off his guard. The stranger closed in
on the club, wrenching it from Prescott's hand and tossing it
far away. But Dick dropped, wrapping his arms about the other's
legs and throwing him.
Just as the two went down in a crash the fire, which had been
smoking, now blazed up.
"I'll show you!" roared the stranger, now thoroughly aroused,
as he grappled with Prescott and the pair rolled in fierce embrace
over the ground.
Dick was not afraid, but he didn't want this night hawk to get
away, so he bellowed lustily:
"Fellows! Gridley! Gr-r-r-id-ley! Quick!"
"Stop that!" hissed the stranger, who was now easily uppermost,
and holding Prescott with ease.
"Quick!" yelled Dick.
The stranger grasped the high school boy by the throat, then as
swiftly changed his mind, for someone was stirring in the tent.
Up leaped the prowler, yet, swift as he was, Dick was also on
his feet.
"Keep back!" warned the prowler, as he turned to run.
"You're mine---all mine!" vaunted young Prescott, making a gallant
leap at the unknown foe.
But that brag was uttered just a few seconds too soon.