The High School Boys' Training Hike Part 39

"No, you can't," retorted the liquor seller quickly. "It's all right for you men to do whatever you think is right, but you've got to remember that I've got to be kept out of whatever happens."

Well enough did the wretch know that half-hearted opposition from him would only fan the flame hotter among the men who considered themselves his friends.

So the messengers were sent to the other drinking places in town.

Word was pa.s.sed for a night raid "by representative citizens,"

as these topers called themselves.

Men of the same turn of mind soon came flocking in from other drinking resorts.

"Don't talk here about what you're going to do for the good of the town," Miller ordered. "Remember, I've got to be kept out of this. My position is a delicate one, you understand."

Soon after midnight the disreputable army of vengeance seekers was straggling down the road. Talking had ceased. These drink-driven wretches were hunting for the camp of d.i.c.k & Co. and they were going to attack it in force.

CHAPTER XXII

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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+ns 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 d.i.c.k!"

"We'll show you!" came a hoa.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sing him, hauled him from bed.

"What are you men doing here?" thundered Reade, striding to the head of the little group of defenders.

d.i.c.k 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 d.i.c.k & 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 d.i.c.k & 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 a.s.sailed from behind.

Whis.h.!.+ slas.h.!.+ 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 slas.h.i.+ng of horsewhips, while d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k & Co. had gathered just beyond their tent.

"What was that mob, anyway?" d.i.c.k asked.

"A gang that came after revenge for what you did to Miller to-night,"

laughed the farmer.

"I thought as much," muttered d.i.c.k.