“Say, what are you trying to give that thief?” protested Tom, in an indignant undertone.

“Why are you telling him we’re friends, and won’t hurt him?” insisted Dave Darrin.

“Because I mean just what I say,” retorted Prescott, so crisply that, for the moment, no one pressed him with any more questions.

Dick continued his calls, but received no response.

“By this time that fellow’s a mile from here, and still running,” mocked Dave.

“Or else he doubled on us, somewhere, and is hidden where he can watch us, and laugh at us slyly,” suggested Tom, as the three high school boys turned to walk back to camp.

“If he’s hiding on our trail, the thief had better not let me catch him laughing at us!” growled Darry indignantly.

“Now, see here, both of you,” Dick Prescott went on, earnestly.  “If we come across that fellow, don’t either of you make a grab at him.  Just let me handle him—–­and I’ll do it by talking alone.  We mustn’t use our fists.”

“You’ve changed your tune wonderfully within the last few minutes,” muttered Dave.

“If I have,” Dick answered impressively, “it’s because I know something now that I didn’t know a little while ago.”

“And what’s that?” asked Tom eagerly.

“I’ll tell all hands presently,” Dick answered mysteriously.

“Oh, fudge!” growled Darry, under his breath, for he was fully as curious as Tom Reade had been.

But Dick walked on as briskly as his almost winded condition would permit.  So they returned to the place where Harry and Dan awaited them.  To these two Dick repeated his instructions in the unlikely case of their meeting the thief during their walk back to camp.

Nothing was seen of the fugitive, however, and the boys picked up Greg Holmes close to the little swimming pool.

“I knew I could not catch up with you fellows,” explained Holmes, “so I took the girls back to camp and then put in my time prowling about here and trying to locate the marrow bones that the sneak stole.”

“Dick doesn’t want us to hurt the fellow, if we run across him,” said Dave grimly.

“Why not?” asked Greg, opening his eyes very wide.

“I don’t know,” sighed Dave.  “Ask Dick.”

“I’ll tell you all by and by,” smiled Dick.  “But now, let us hurry back to camp.  I want to see Mr. Colquitt just as soon as I can.”

“Bosh!  A detective like Colquitt doesn’t take up with such trifling mysteries as missing marrow bones,” jibed Reade.  “Besides, we can’t afford to hire detectives.”

“I don’t want to hire a detective,” Dick replied enigmatically, “but I’d like about one minute’s talk with Mr. Colquitt, and I mean to have it.  Don’t let us dawdle on the way back, fellows.”

So the six boys hurried on and soon came within sight of the camp.

“There they come!” cried Belle Meade.  “Did you get the thief, boys?”