CONCLUSION
As a last resort the high school boy decided to make one more
effort to use persuasion.
"Tag" he urged, "be a real fellow. Show some grit, and purpose.
No matter what you've done, or what you haven't done, show that
you've sand enough to get up and walk back into camp with me---to
meet your father. Come, get up and come along, like a real fellow
with real grit, won't you?"
"Get up?" echoed Tag bitterly. "If I could, do you suppose I'd
be lying here talking to you now?"
"Are you hurt?" cried Dick.
"If I hadn't been, do you suppose I'd have stayed with you as
long as I have?" mocked the other indignantly. "It all came of
that money, too, and what you call 'conscience.' If I hadn't come
back with the money I wouldn't have had that nasty tumble over
the root, and my ankle would be as sound as ever."
"Do you mean that you can't walk?" Dick demanded.
"I can crawl, and that's all," Tag declared. "I was at the spring,
getting a drink, when I heard you coming. Then I crawled back
in here, but not fast enough to keep you from seeing something
moving here. It was right over yonder that I fell and wrenched
my ankle. I crawled over here so as to be near water until my
foot got so that I could use it again."
"Hoo-hoo!" bellowed Prescott, through his hands. "Hoo-hoo the
camp! Hoo-hoo!"
"That's right," jeered Tag. "Go in after the reward, when I can't
help myself. Serves me right for taking money when I should have
contented myself with my old game of stealing victuals only!"
"Hoo-hoo the camp!" repeated Prescott. "Hoo-hoo!"
"That you, Dick?" came in Darrin's voice.
"Yes; come here on the jump, Dave. And bring the others."
"Where?"
"At the spring."
"Say," remarked Tag shrewdly, "you oughtn't to call a whole crowd
that way. There will be more to get a share in the reward, and
you won't get as much for yourself."
"Oh, bother the reward!" spoke Prescott impatiently. "All I'm
thinking of, Tag, is the bother you've given us, first and last."
"I suppose I always have been a trouble to folks," Tag assented
glumly. "But I'll be game---now that I'm caught."
All the chums save Hazelton came on a run.
"Here's Tag, fellows," Dick hailed them. "He has hurt his ankle
and I guess we'll have to carry him to camp."
"That'll be easy enough," declared broad shouldered Tom Reade.
"I believe I can pick, him up alone."
Tom tried. The feat would have been possible, but it would not
make for the comfort of the injured boy.
"You and I will make a queen's chair," suggested Dick. Then Dave,
Greg and Dan lifted Tag to the seat thus formed.
"You'll find me heavy before you get me far," Tag informed them.
"Pshaw!" retorted Tom.
Greg, running ahead, informed the others in camp who was coming.
The bearers were met by Mr. Page, Hibbert and Colquitt, running
in the order named.
"Here's the boy you want, Mr. Page," called Dick Prescott. "But
look out for his injured ankle, sir."
This last caution was necessary, for the older man, in his eagerness
to embrace the lad whom he believed to be his son, almost crashed
into him.
"So you're my son---my boy, Egbert!" cried the father.
"That's the fairy tale that has been shied at me a good many times
lately," replied Tag gruffly.
Mr. Page fell back, in some astonishment, at this ungracious reception.
Then, understanding, and remembering Tag's unhappy past, he
patted the boy's shoulder.
"That's all right---all right, Egbert," declared the father.
"Perhaps the news has come upon you too suddenly. But you and
I will talk it over. It won't take us long to know each other,
my boy."
As the party came into camp it was noted that Mrs. Bentley and
the girls had withdrawn, returning, through delicacy, to their
own camp. Hazelton, thus released from guard duty at the other
camp, soon came running over.
But Dr. Bentley had slipped into the tent, quickly arranging one
of the cots with the skill of the hospital worker.
"Bring the young man in here," called the physician, appearing
in the doorway of the tent. "We'll soon find out how bad the
injury is."
Tag was lowered down upon the blanket.
"Which foot is it?" asked Dr. Bentley.
"Left," replied Tag.
Dr. Bentley deftly removed the shoe, causing hardly more than
a trace of pain. Tag insisted on raising himself on his elbow
to look on. It was the first time he had ever been under a doctor's
care.
Dick took one look at the wistful eyes of the father, as Mr. Page
stood by the head of the cot, resting one hand on his supposed
son's shoulder.
"Come outside, fellows," called Dick. "Doctor, we'll be outside
if you want anything."
The onlookers in the tent started to go outside, except the father
and the physician.
"Come back, Hibbert," called Mr. Page softly. "You've been at
least a son to me during the last year. Now, remain and help
me to get acquainted with my own son."
Tag was silent. He could take punishment, and Dr. Bentley was
now hurting him quite a bit in his effort to get at the exact
nature of the injury.
"Reade," called the physician, "start a fire in a hurry. Heat
half a kettle of water for me as fast as you can. Prescott, run
over to my camp and ask Mrs. Bentley for my emergency case, the
two-quart bottle of bicarbonate of soda and a roll of four-inch
gauze."
Dick sped toward the Bentley camp as though on wings. While Mrs.
Bentley was gathering the things for him the girls crowded about,
asking eager questions about Tag, or Egbert Page, as he might
prove to be. But Dick delayed to talk only until Mrs. Bentley
had placed the desired things in his hands. Then he sped back,
in time to hear the physician saying:
"Only a sprain. A painful one, to be sure. But this young man
may be moved in an automobile in an hour or two. By to-morrow
morning he ought to be able to get about with the aid of a crutch."
"In jail is where I'll do my moving about," grunted Tag.
"No matter where it be, my boy," protested Mr. Page, "if they
lock you up they'll have to take me, too. Besides, I have money,
and bail is possible."
"Bail?" repeated Tag. "Would you go my bail, and trust me not
to jump it?"
"The Page honor would never permit you to jump bail," replied
the old man, with simple but positive belief in his tone.
Hardly had Dr. Bentley finished dressing and bandaging the ankle
than a new arrival appeared. Deputy Valden had dropped in, alone,
to discover whether there was any news.
"You may wait, deputy, and go with us," declared Mr. Page, as
though the sheriff's officer were some subordinate of his. "We
will go to the jail as soon as my son is rested and is comfortable
enough to be moved."
"Humph! I like that!" jeered the deputy. "This boy is my prisoner,
and I'll take him when I please. See here, Tag, I don't want
you faking any injuries as a slick way to-----"
"You get outside, my man!" broke in Detective Colquitt quietly,
but he took hold of the deputy so forcibly that Valden was quickly
on the outside of the tent.
"Now, you come along with me, my man," Colquitt continued, "and
I'll tell you who's who. First of all, this boy is Mr. Page's
son. Mr. Page can produce all kinds of money merely by signing
a check. He is indignant with you, already, for maltreating his
son when you had him under arrest at another time. Mr. Page may
employ lawyers and bring proceedings to have you ousted from
your job by the sheriff. You-----"
Here their voices died out in the distance, but Valden went along
willingly enough. When the pair returned the deputy seemed to
have lost his swagger.
"Doc, you've been good to me," said Tag at last, "and now I'll
tell you how I came to hurt my ankle. You know, of course, that
I visited one of your shacks and helped myself to some of your
kitchen stuff. While I was there I came across a queer little
black bag. I opened it, and found a whole lot of queer little
bottles. Medicines, I guess, though I don't know, for I never
had any. Then I came across one little bottle that I couldn't
see inside of. I took out the cork, and inside I found some paper
rolled up and tucked away. Two twenties were what I found. Money
was just what I needed, to buy a railway ticket with, so I slipped
the money into a pocket. Then I started off, but, Doe, that money
got so heavy---so awfully heavy-----"
From there on Tag repeated the story he had told young Prescott.
During the recital Dick had stepped into the tent.
"I knew you had my money, my boy," smiled Dr. Bentley, "but I
didn't say anything about it."
"You didn't start off to put the officers on my track?" demanded
Tag incredulously.
"Not I," laughed Dr. Bentley. "I had a different idea. I suspected
you'd buy a railway ticket. This evening I had intended to drive,
to a telegraph station and telegraph about until I found where
and to what station a chap answering your description had bought
a ticket. Then I would telegraph to the sheriff just where you
were to be picked up as you left the train. I'll admit that I
wasn't very anxious to turn you over to the law. What I wanted
was to get on your trail, and then see you turned over to your
father."
"You told me that Tag took a drug from one of your vials," Dick
murmured, smiling.
"So he did," nodded the doctor. "Money is a drug in the market---in
some places."
"What kind of places, sir?" Prescott inquired.
"Such places as the United States Treasury, for instance," laughed
Dr. Bentley. "Or the National City Bank of New York."
Then turning to Mr. Page, the physician completed his explanation.
"Money is a strange thing perhaps, Mr. Page, to carry in a vial
in a doctor's drug case. But sometimes, when I've been on the
road, and a long way from home on the day's work, I've found that
I needed money just when I least expected to want it. So, for
some years, I've always had two twenty dollar bills tucked away
in an opaque vial, where it would not be seen and invite theft.
I never told anyone what I carried in that vial."
What Dr. Bentley did not explain, however, was that, generally,
when he wanted extra money, it was for some charitable work the
need of which became apparent when he was visiting the sick and
needy. The generous physician had many "free patients."
Some two hours later, Tag, his father, Hibbert, Colquitt and Valden
started for the county jail in the big Page car. On the way they
stopped at the home of Farmer Leigh, to which Dr. Bentley had
gone ahead of them.
"Mr. Leigh is conscious and able to be seen," the physician reported
to Detective Colquitt. "Bring your prisoner inside at once."
Then there came a dramatic surprise. Farmer Leigh, when confronted
by Tag, positively denied that Tag was the one who had assaulted
him. Mr. Leigh, it will be remembered, was a newcomer in the
neighborhood. He had never known Tag, but, after his injury,
and before brain fever came on, the farmer had described his assailant,
and that description had seemed to fit Tag Mosher to a dot. The
real criminal, however, a young tramp some years older than Tag,
was found later on, and punished according to law.
Dick Prescott was the only one of the high school boys on hand
to see the clearing of Tag of the accusation against him. Dick
had come along in Dr. Bentley's car.
"Prescott," whispered the physician, "slip downstairs. You'll
find my car all ready. All you need to do is to press the starting
button. Drive over to Porterville and get Mr. James, the district
attorney. Never mind if you have to drag him out of bed and thrash
him into submission---bring him here as quickly as possible.
Don't fail, you understand."
With heart beating rapidly, but feeling wholly happy, young Prescott
slipped downstairs and out of the house. A few moments later
he was speeding over the lonely country road. At one o'clock
in the morning he came back with District Attorney James, who
heard Farmer Leigh's statement, reduced it to writing and had
it signed under oath before many witnesses.
"Officer Valden," said the district attorney, "I authorize you
to take your prisoner to Porterville, not to the jail, but to
the Granite Hotel. As soon as court opens in the morning I will
secure the formal discharge of your prisoner."
This was done. Dick, who returned to camp with Dr. Bentley just
before daylight, did not see Tag released, but heard of it.
Proof came in rapidly after that to satisfy Mr. Page that "Tag
Mosher" was his son Egbert. Best of all, even young Egbert himself
was convinced.
Young Page underwent a speedy and complete reformation. Later
he went to school to prepare for college. In time Egbert promises
to be a strong man in his community and a force for good. Old
Bill Mosher died soon after leaving jail.
Mr. Page tried hard to make Dick & Co. accept the offered reward
of three thousand dollars, but neither the boys nor their parents
would listen to any such transaction. Dick & Co. had done their
duty in manly fashion, and that was reward enough.
Dr. Bentley's party broke camp a few days later. Dick & Co.,
however, remained for several weeks, training hard, putting on
tan and muscle and fitting themselves to compete for places on
the famous Gridley High School eleven in the coming fall.
Just what happened to our boys in the school year that followed
will be found fully and thrillingly explained in the third volume
of the "_High School Boys Series_," which is published under the
title, "_The High School Left End; Or, Dick & Co. Grilling on
the Football Gridiron_."
The further vacation doings of these splendid American boys will
be found in the next volume of this "High School Boys' Vacation
Series." The book is published under the title, "_The High School
Boys' Fishing Trip; Or, Dick & Co. in the Wilderness_." Our readers
will find it a story full of rousing incident, persistent adventure,
delightful humor and absorbing human interest.