As Dick neared the camp he stepped more softly.  He wanted to see whether Mosher really had come back.

But no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp.  Dick walked in more confidently.  His first care was to examine the food supply.

“Nothing gone,” Dick murmured.  Then he looked about for a stick large enough to serve as a weapon at need.  While doing so his glance fell upon an axe.

“I wouldn’t use that,” Prescott told himself.  “But there is no knowing what Mosher would do if he got cornered by more than one of us.  Hereafter we mustn’t leave this thing outside.”

Dick carried the axe into the tent, hiding it without awaking any of the other sleepers.  Then he went outside, searching until he found a club that he thought would answer for defense.

Taking this with him he went over to the wash basin, where, wetting a towel, he bathed his battered face.

“Almost one o’clock,” he remarked, after striking a match for a look at his watch.  “I won’t call Dave at all, but will stay up and call Harry at half-past one.”

CHAPTER XII

“Tag” Is the game—–­tag Mosher!

“Now, come in with the sprint!” Dick sang out to Hazelton.

“Greg, Dave and Tom, you block him.  Get through, Harry—–­some way!  Don’t let ’em stop you.”

It was three days later, and Dick & Co. were at work at their main task during this summer camping, which was to train hard and try to fit themselves for the football squad when high school should open again.

Hazelton came on, at racing speed.  He ducked low, making a gallant effort.  He nearly succeeded in getting through, but Tom’s tackle brought him to ground just at the right moment.

“Now, try that over again,” Prescott said.

So the work went on, vigorously, for another hour—–­until all of the boys were tired out, hot and panting.

“That’s the most grueling work I ever did in the same space of time,” muttered Reade, mopping his face.

“Yes; it’s the kind of work for which football calls,” rejoined Prescott, also mopping his face.  “Dan, get up off the ground!”

“I’m hot,” muttered Dalzell, “and I’m tired.”

“Then rest on a campstool.  Don’t chill yourself by lying on the ground when you’re so warm.”

After a few seconds of contemplated mutiny, Danny Grin rose and found a seat on a stool.

“As soon as you’re cool, three of you go to the water and wash off,” Dick ordered.  “The other three of us will stay here until you get back.”

That was the order of the day now.  At least two, and usually three of Dick & Co. always remained near camp.  If Mosher planned to come again he would find a “committee” waiting to receive him.

There were more supplies, too, to guard now than there had been.  On the morning after Dick’s encounter, a farmer had driven into camp.  His wagon had been well laden with all manner of canned food supplies, even to tins of French mushrooms.  These had come from Alonzo Hibbert, with a note of thanks for the entertainment of himself and friends.