The heavy storm made it a dull afternoon, where there might have been so much fun.

But not one of Dick & Co. had the least idea of the excitement in store for them.  The storm held more than rain for many people.

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. PAGE’S KIND OF FATHER

As though the heavy downpour did not sufficiently indicate that the storm was still raging as heavily as ever, Harry Hazelton went to the tent doorway to peer out at the sky.

Just as suddenly he ducked back again.

“Hist!” he called.  “There’s someone at our canned goods stock, and I think it’s Tag!”

In a twinkling Dick and Dave were by Hazelton’s side.  The heavy rain supplied a curtain like a light fog.

“I think that’s Tag!” muttered Dick.  “We’ll go after him.”

There was a quick diving into rubber coats.  Dick and Dave were first to get outside.

But the figure seen through the rain was already under way, heading away from the tent.  This figure, just as it stole under the great trees, turned to point a sawed-off shotgun their way.

“That’s Tag,” muttered Dick.  “Come on; we’ll catch him.”

“Yes; if he’ll kindly permit us to get close to him,” rejoined Darry, as he ran at Dick’s side.

Evidently the figure ahead had made a successful raid on the food, for he carried a gunnysack, and that appeared to have a load inside.

“We can catch him—–­if we can run fast enough,” declared Dick, for just then the fugitive darted ahead with renewed speed.

“Unless he stops us with the gun,” objected Dave.

“Don’t let him stop you with that.  I don’t believe he would dare use it on us.”

“If it’s only a question of ‘daring,’” responded Dave, “I don’t believe there is anything that Tag Mosher would be afraid to do at a pinch.”

Owing to the storm it was dark in the great woods.  Shadows were deceptive.  Though Dick and Dave ran on at pell-mell speed they presently came to a sudden halt, looking inquiringly at each other.

“Which way did that fellow go?” demanded Dave.

“Blessed if I know,” Dick admitted.

“Are we still on the right trail, and merely a mile behind him?”

“I wish I knew even that,” admitted Prescott.

“We might as well go back,” proposed Darry.  “In these woods all we’ll get is—–­wet.”

“All right,” nodded Prescott.  Discouraged with the chase, they turned to retrace their way nearly half a mile through the soggy, dripping woods.  They had not gone far on their return when they came upon Tom and Greg.

“Hello, where have you fellows been?” asked Reade.

“We weren’t very far ahead of you,” Dick answered.

“Greg and I didn’t see or hear you ahead.”

“And Tag Mosher was just as invisible and unfindable to us,” laughed Dick, “so we came back.”