UNDER THE STING OF THE LASH
When the crowd reached the camp of the high school boys all was
silent there. From within the tent came the sounds of the heavy
breathing of the sleepers.
"Everything is ready, and there isn't even a dog on the place!"
was the exultant word passed back.
"Bunch up! Get in close and surround the tent," ordered another
voice. "We want some of you men behind the tent, so that none
of the youngsters can slip away from us. Come along, now. Don't
talk! Don't make so much noise. Easy, now!"
Thus the figures continued to gather, like so many evil spirits
of the night.
Here and there one of the rabble fell over something in the dark,
or tripped over a root or stone as he moved about among the shadows.
In the intervals of absolute silence the steady breathing of the
six Gridley High School boys could still be heard, until one man
in the rabble, less sober than the others, fell over a packing-case,
barking his shins and giving vent to a yell of pain.
"What was that?" asked Greg Holmes, waking and rising on one elbow.
Outside all was quiet again.
"Hey, Dave, get up!" Holmes called, shaking the arm of Darry,
who lay asleep on the adjoining cot. "I heard something going
on outside. We'll both get up, light a lantern, and-----"
"Yes! Get up and come out!" jeered a voice near the tent door.
"Come out and have a look at us. The reputable citizens of Fenton
are to chase you out of town---and we'll do it, after we get through
with teaching you manners!"
"Fellows! Hustle!" shouted Greg, leaping from his cot. "Get
ready for trouble. All the topers and loafers who ever knew Miller
are outside to avenge the beating that Miller received from Dick!"
"We'll show you!" came a hoarse yell, and then the foremost ruffians
in the crowd surged in through the tent door.
But Dave had succeeded in lighting a lantern, and this he took
time to hang from a hook on the nearest pole.
Five boys clad only in their pajamas faced this angry rabble.
Dan Dalzell slept through the confusion until Reade, in passing
him, hauled him from bed.
"What are you men doing here?" thundered Reade, striding to the
head of the little group of defenders.
Dick was now beside him like a flash.
"You fellows get out of here!" Prescott ordered, his eyes flaming.
"We'll get out when we get ready!" came the hoarse answer. "Now,
friends, show these young imps-----"
But that speaker got no further, for a blow from Tom's fist brought
him to the ground.
All six of Dick & Co. were now on the fistic firing line.
For a few moments they carried all but consternation to their
opponents. As they were forced back from the doorway, however,
more and more of the mob poured in.
The very weight of numbers was bound to count against Dick & Co.
who were likely to suffer severely at the hands of the miscreants.
Just then there came a flash across the canvas of the tent. The
light had been thrown by a swiftly-moving automobile. There was
another automobile directly behind it. Both cars came to a stop
at the roadside, while from them leaped more than a dozen men.
These men were armed---each with a horsewhip. In an instant the
invaders found them selves assailed from behind.
Whish! slash! zip!
In another instant all was uproar. Yells of pain from the mob
rent the air, for these latest arrivals were laying about them
with their horsewhips with an energy worthy of a good cause.
"Here, you, Andy Hartshorn. Stop that! Don't you hit me! I
know you, and I'll have the law on you!" shrieked one of the
frightened wretches.
"He who goes to law should have his own hands clean," quoth Farmer
Hartshorn, as he dealt the fellow a stinging blow on the legs.
Those of the crowd outside the tent fled in every direction, hotly
pursued, and again and again they were stung by the lashes.
Those of the invaders still in the tent were now in a panic to
get out and away. As they dashed through the doorway they felt
the slashing of horsewhips, while Dick Prescott and his chums
hammered them from the rear.
In less than thirty seconds the invaders had been cleared away.
They fled in screaming panic, scattering in all directions, some
of them being pursued and lashed for a distance of many rods up
or down the road.
On all sides the fleeing wretches threatened their persecutors
with the law, but these threats did not stop the punishment.
"I guess it's all right now, boys!" called Farmer Hartshorn grimly,
as he strode up to the place where Dick & Co. had gathered just
beyond their tent.
"What was that mob, anyway?" Dick asked.
"A gang that came after revenge for what you did to Miller to-night,"
laughed the farmer.
"I thought as much," muttered Dick.
"They've been gathering at Miller's, and other like places, for
a couple of hours," Mr. Hartshorn went on. "But, as is the case
with all such movements, some news of it leaked outside. We got
word a bit late, or we'd have been here before that crowd came
along. When we knew the word was straight some of us telephoned
to others, and our crowd was gotten together, but as it is, we
got here in season. Are any of you boys hurt?"
"No, sir; not one of us," Dick declared. "But some of us might
have been seriously injured if you gentlemen had been delayed
for another minute."
"We'll know the rascals to-morrow," spoke up another of the rescuers.
"If they appear on the streets at all they'll be recognized.
We have marked them up pretty well. They've gone off vowing
to have the law on us."
"All they'll do will be to put arnica on themselves," declared
Mr. Hartshorn. "And they will send friends to the drugstore for
the arnica. They won't take the risk of being recognized on the
streets. They'll be a shame-faced lot in the morning."
"It was mighty good of you men to come down and help us out,"
murmured Dick Prescott gratefully. "We would have had a pretty
tough time if we had been left to ourselves."
"We'd go further than we've traveled tonight, to help out boys
like you," declared another man present. "Prescott, that was
a fine thing you did to Miller to-night, and Tom Drake will be
grateful as long as he lives."
"If Drake keeps away from drink in the future," Dick answered,
"he will have reason to congratulate himself."
"Oh, Drake will keep away from the stuff after this," said one
of the citizens. "Young Drake has a head of his own, and we'll
see that he uses it. We'll keep a friendly eye over him. Don't
worry. Young Tom Drake will never associate with any of Miller's
kind again."
"Whenever any of you boys want to go to sleep, just say so," urged
Mr. Hartshorn, "and we'll run along."
"Why, I believe we're a bit waked up, at present," smiled young
Prescott, as he turned to glance at the others in the light thrown
by the automobile lamps.
"I don't feel as though I needed any more sleep," laughed Tom
Reade.
"If you boys are thinking of sitting up to watch against another
surprise, don't bother about it," advised Mr. Hartshorn. "You've
seen the very last that you'll see of those rascals. Men of that
sort never have nerve enough to attempt a risky thing twice."
"I'm going to put some wood in the stove and make coffee," Danny
Grin announced.
"Can't we offer you a cup of coffee, gentlemen?" proposed Prescott.
"And sandwiches? We have plenty of the fixings for sandwiches."
The idea prevailed to such an extent that Dalzell put on a kettle
of water to boil, while Tom and Dave began to slice bread and
open tinned meats.
"I'm going to sit down on the ground and be comfortable," declared
one of the Fentonites, when coffee and food were passed around.
"Do you know, gentlemen," said Tom Reade, as he munched a sandwich,
"I'm beginning to like Fenton next to our own town of Gridley."
"Fenton isn't anywhere near as large a place as Gridley," replied
one of the guests.
"No; but for its size Fenton is a lively place," Reade went on.
"There seems to be something happening here every minute."
"That is when young fellows like you come along and start the
ball rolling," chuckled Farmer Hartshorn. "There has been more
excitement to-night in Fenton than I can remember during the last
five years. I've seen you play football, Prescott, and you're
a wonder at the game. Yet what you did to-night for young Tom
Drake is a bigger thing than winning a whole string of the greatest
football games of the year."
"Football is more exciting, though," smiled Dick.
"Is it?" demanded Mr. Hartshorn. "More exciting than what you've
been through tonight? Then I'll never play football! More excitement
than you've had to-night isn't healthful for any growing young
fellow!"
For fully an hour these men of Fenton remained at the camp, talking
with their young hosts, and, incidentally, picking up a lot of
information about the sports and pastimes that most interest wide-awake
boys of to-day.
At last, however, disclaiming the thanks offered by Dick & Co.,
the guests went away in the automobiles that had brought them,
while Dick Prescott and his chums prepared to finish out the night's
rest.