“You may safely bet on that,” said one of the boys; “he’s a savage fellow.”

“And a first-rate watch-dog, too,” observed another.

“Well,” said Charles, “all we have to do is to move so still that you can’t hear a leaf rustle; but, if we do rouse the dog, let each one grab a stone and let him have it.”

“That would only make a bad matter worse,” said one.

“I am afraid we shall have more than we bargained for, if we undertake that,” remarked another.

“Let the cowards go home, and the rest come with me,” said Charles, impatiently.  “Bill,” he continued, turning to his right-hand man, “can you act as guide?”

“Yes.”

“Then, lead on.”

William led the way out of the woods, across a narrow meadow, where they came to the fence that inclosed Mrs. Nelson’s garden.

“Now, boys,” he whispered, “keep still as mice; but, if we do start the dog, don’t stop to fight him, but run like white-heads.”

The Rangers climbed over the fence, and followed their guide, who threaded his way through the trees and bushes with a skill worthy of a better cause, and a few moments sufficed to bring them to the strawberry-patch.

“Be careful, boys,” said Charles, in a low whisper.  “Don’t leave a single plant in the ground.”

The young scapegraces worked with a will, and, in a few moments, the strawberry-bed—­which was Frank’s pride, next to his museum, and on which he had expended a great amount of labor—­was almost ruined; and so quietly did they proceed in their work of wanton destruction, that Brave, although a very vigilant dog, was not aroused, and the marauders retraced their steps, and reached the woods in safety.

“There,” said Charles, at length, “that’s what I call doing it up brown.  It almost pays off my debts.  I don’t think they will receive much benefit from those strawberries this year.”

“They have got some nice pears,” said one of the Rangers, “and when they get ripe, we must plan another expedition.”

“That’s so,” answered Charles.  “But we must not forget that we have others to settle with; and we must meet, some time next week, and determine who shall be visited next.”

On the following morning, Frank arose, as usual, at four o’clock, and, shouldering his fish-pole, started off through the woods to catch a mess of trout, intending to be back by breakfast-time.  But, as the morning was cloudy, the trout bit voraciously, and in the excitement of catching them, he forgot that he was hungry, and it was almost noon before he reached home.

As soon as he entered the house, Aunt Hannah exclaimed,

“Master Frank, you were altogether too good to Lee Powell, the other night.”

“What makes you think so?” he inquired.

At this moment Julia, hearing his voice, burst in from the dining-room, exclaiming,

“Frank, the Hillers have robbed your strawberry-patch!”