Out of the tent crept Dick, crouching.  His heart was beating a trifle faster than usual, perhaps, for he saw at once that the prowler was larger than himself.

Before one of the box cupboards the prowler halted and rummaged inside with his hands.

“I guess this is where I need a light,” mused the stranger, half aloud.

“Pardon me, but what do you want with a light?” inquired Prescott, at the same time pushing the stranger forward on his face.  Dick now seated himself on the other’s shoulders.

“Don’t make a fuss,” Prescott advised.  “I like to think myself a gentleman, and I don’t want to muss you up too much.”

The stranger laughed.  It was an easy, confident laugh that destroyed a bit of the Gridley boy’s sense of mastery.

“What are you doing, up at this time of night?” asked the stranger.

“Minding my own business, in my own camp,” Dick replied easily.  “And what are you doing here?  Whose business are you minding?”

“My own, too, I reckon,” replied the prowler more gruffly.

“In other words, attending to your hunger?” pressed Prescott.

“I’m looking out that I don’t have too much hunger to-morrow,” came the now half sullen answer.

“Is this the way you usually get your food?” Dick demanded dryly.

“This is the way I get most of it,” came the reply.

“Stealing it, eh?”

“Well, what of it?” came the sulky retort.  “The world owes me a living.”

“To be sure it does,” Dick answered blithely.  “The world owes every man a living.  That’s just why you don’t need to steal.  Just sail in and collect that living by means of hard work.  Are you the chap who collected our steaks this evening?”

“None of your business.  And, now, if you’ve given me as much chatter as you want, get off my shoulders!”

“I’ve a little more to say to you yet,” Dick responded.

“Get off my shoulders!”

“I will—–­when I’m through with you,” Dick agreed.

“You’ll get off at once, or I’ll roll you off!” came the now angry threat.

“Try it,” Dick urged coolly.

Right then and there the stranger did try it.  He “heaved,” then attempted to roll and grapple with the young camper.  He would have succeeded, too, had Prescott relied upon his strength alone.  But Dick employed both hands in getting a neck-hold that hurt.

“Now, quit your fooling,” Prescott advised, “or I’ll let out a whoop that will bring five more fellows here.  Do you know what they would do to you?  They’d just about lynch you—–­schoolboy fashion.  Do you know what a schoolboy lynching is?”

“No,” sullenly answered the stranger, as he started to renew the struggle.

“You will know, soon, if you don’t stop your stupid fooling,” Dick told him.

“Hang you, kid.  Get off of me, and keep your hands away, or I’ll hurt you more than you were ever hurt in your life, and I’ll get away with it, too, before your friends come!”