So lively did the struggle become that Dick was obliged to use his clenched fist against the side of the prowler’s jaw.  That quieted the stranger for an instant.

Leaping lightly from his troublesome captive, Dick snatched up a heavy club of firewood that lay nearby.

“That’s right,” Dick agreed, swinging the club, as the other rose to a sitting posture.  “Sit up, but don’t try to get up any farther unless you want to feel this stake, which is tougher than those other steaks!”

Prescott kept nimbly out of reach of the other’s arms, though he took pains to keep himself where he could jump in with a handy blow at need.

“Now,” remarked the high school boy, “you are getting an idea as to who’s boss.”

“Well, what do you want?” asked the other sullenly.  He had already drawn down a tattered, battered old cap so that it screened his face.

“I want to get a better look at you,” Prescott replied.  “I want to be able to know you anywhere.  Tan colored woollen shirt; brown corduroy trousers; low-cut black shoes; cap defies description.  Now, let me see your face.”

With that Dick bent quickly, picking up an oil-soaked bunch of faggots that he had prepared before the others had turned in for the night and dropped them upon the campfire.

Like a flash he was back, close to the stranger.  “Don’t you dare try to get up!” Dick threatened, swinging the club.

“Hit me, if you dare!” leered the other.  “I’m going to get upright now!”

With that he made a lurching move forward.  Prescott swung the club, though of course he did not intend to beat the stranger about the head.

His indecision left him off his guard.  The stranger closed in on the club, wrenching it from Prescott’s hand and tossing it far away.  But Dick dropped, wrapping his arms about the other’s legs and throwing him.

Just as the two went down in a crash the fire, which had been smoking, now blazed up.

“I’ll show you!” roared the stranger, now thoroughly aroused, as he grappled with Prescott and the pair rolled in fierce embrace over the ground.

Dick was not afraid, but he didn’t want this night hawk to get away, so he bellowed lustily: 

“Fellows!  Gridley!  Gr-r-r-id-ley!  Quick!”

“Stop that!” hissed the stranger, who was now easily uppermost, and holding Prescott with ease.

“Quick!” yelled Dick.

The stranger grasped the high school boy by the throat, then as swiftly changed his mind, for someone was stirring in the tent.  Up leaped the prowler, yet, swift as he was, Dick was also on his feet.

“Keep back!” warned the prowler, as he turned to run.

“You’re mine—–­all mine!” vaunted young Prescott, making a gallant leap at the unknown foe.

But that brag was uttered just a few seconds too soon.

CHAPTER VI