“I’m going to make you listen to-----”

“Put up your guard!”

At least Mosher was “square” enough to give warning of his intentions.  He threw himself on guard, then waited for perhaps five seconds.

“Are you going to cool down and listen!” demanded Dick Prescott firmly.

Out shot the Mosher youth’s left fist.  Dick dodged.  It was a feint; Dick nearly stopped Mosher’s right.

Blows rained in thickly now.  Not every one could Prescott dodge, though he was more agile and better trained than this more powerful youth.

At last, smarting from a glancing blow on the nose, Dick darted in and clinched with his adversary.  It was bad judgment, but punishment had stung him into desperate recklessness.

“Stop it!” panted the high school boy.

“Won’t!” retorted Mosher, increasing his pressure about the smaller boy’s waist until Prescott felt dizzy.  In that extremity the Gridley boy worked a neat little trip.  Down they went, rolling over and over, fighting like wild cats until Mosher secured the upper hand and sat heavily on the high school boy.

“I gave you all the chance I could,” growled Mosher, planting blow after blow on Dick’s head, face and chest, “and you wouldn’t help yourself anyway.  Now, you’ll take all your medicine, and next time you meet me you’ll know enough to leave me alone.”

Held as he was, without really a show, Dick Prescott fought as long as he could, and with desperate courage.  But at last he felt forced to yell: 

“Fellows!  Gridley!  Here—–­quickly!”

“They’re too far away, and, besides, they’re asleep,” jeered Mosher, to the accompaniment of three more hard blows.  “Now, I reckon you’ve had enough to know your own business after this and let mine alone.  If I had any cord I’d tie you here.  As it is-----”

Leaping suddenly to his feet, Mosher turned and ran swiftly through the woods.

Dick badly hurt, yet as determined as ever, pursued for a few score of yards.  Then realizing that he could hear no sound of the other’s steps to guide him in the right direction, the high school boy halted.

“I may as well give it up this time,” he said to himself grimly.  “Besides, my main job is to guard the camp.  If I go roaming through the woods, Mosher, as he calls himself, will double back on the camp and clean out our provisions while I’m groping out here in the dark.”

So Dick paused only long enough to make sure of his course back.  Then he plodded along, wincing with the pain of many blows that he had received.

“I’m lucky, anyway, that I didn’t get an eye bunged up,” he reflected.  “I smart and I ache, but I can see straight, and I don’t believe I’ve received any blow that will disfigure me for the next few days.  My, what a steam hammer that fellow is in a fight!  I wonder if he really is the son of that hard character called Bill Mosher?”