“We’ll have to approach by way of the orchard,” said Frank.  “Does Baldwin keep a dog?”

“Sure—­a big half-blood bull.”

“That’s nice.  We are liable to find plenty of fun here.  Every man must provide himself with a stout and heavy club to use on that dog in case of emergency.  That is important.  The lights are out, and it looks as if the farmer and his family were sleeping soundly, but, as Jones says, appearances are sometimes deceptive.  We’ll have to take our chances.  Three of us will go through the orchard.  The other two must get near the house in front and be ready to create a diversion in case we are discovered.  Harry, you and Bandy take the front.  You are both good runners.  If Mr. Baldwin and his dog get after us, attract his attention in some manner.”

“And get him after us?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Jupiter!  I wish I had brought a gun for that dog!  Bandy, you are liable to have to use those crooked legs of yours in a decidedly lively manner before the night is over.”

When everything was arranged Harry and Bandy advanced along the road, going forward slowly, while Frank, Blossom and Little made a detour and came into the orchard.

The hearts of the boys were in their throats, and still there was something about the adventure that filled them with the keenest delight.

Each one had secured a club, and they were ready to give the dog a warm reception if he came for them.

Little watched beneath a tree, while Merriwell and Blossom slipped up to one of the sheds which had a favorable look.

In the meantime Rattleton and Robinson had got near the front of the house and were hiding in a ditch, waiting and listening.

“I am surprised that Merriwell should agree to take a hand in this,” whispered Harry.  “He is a queer chap—­has scruples about doing certain things.  I thought he would object to hooking out a turk.”

“Oh, such a thing as this isn’t really stealing,” protested Robinson.  “It is different.”

“In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot.  If we’re caught it will be called stealing.”

“Oh, well, a fellow who won’t do anything like this is too good for this world.  He’s got wings sprouting.”

“You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie,” returned Harry, rather warmly.  “He’s proved that.  Any man has a right to his ideas, and if he thinks a thing wrong he’s justified in refusing to have anything to do with it.”

“Perhaps so; but Merriwell is right on the limit now.”

“How?”

“He will not drink, he does not smoke, and I never have heard him cuss.”

“Does it make a fellow a man to drink and smoke and swear?  I tell you you’ll go a long distance before you find a fellow who is any more of a man than Frank Merriwell.  I was dead lucky when I got him for a roommate.”

“You’re stuck on him.  I say he is all right, but he is on the limit.  I believe the fellows would like him better if he would break over once in a while.”