“It is,” agreed the other tramps solemnly.

The glance of the newcomers did not rest upon the face of Reuben Hinman, for Prescott had gently spread a blanket so that it effectually concealed the little old peddler.

“What have you men been doing?” asked Dick, straightening up and eyeing them coldly, steadily.

“Drowning in the woods,” replied the boss, “for we knew we couldn’t find a house or barn within two miles, and the road is like a river you need a boat for travel to-night.  When the storm came we men made a brush lean-to and kept as dry as we could under it.  But it got worse and worse.  But at last we caught sight of your light shining through the trees.  So we headed for it.  We hoped you’d have a stove with a fire in it, and you have—–­so we’re all right, and much obliged.”

“Keep back there a bit,” ordered Dick, so firmly that the tramps obeyed.  “Dave, help me to lift this cot over within a few feet of the stove.  Be as gentle as you can.”

Four tramps looked on in solemn curiosity as they saw Darrin and Prescott lift a cot on which lay something completely covered by a blanket.

Then Dick turned down the blanket, revealing the bruised, bleeding head of Reuben Hinman.

“What do you men know about this?” Prescott demanded, eyeing them compellingly.

But the tramps’ look was one of such astonished innocence that Prescott began to wonder whether he had wrongly suspected these knights of the highway.

“Why did you do—–­this?” Prescott sternly insisted.

“We—–­we didn’t do it!” exclaimed the boss tramp fervently.  “We didn’t even know that this old party was anywhere out in the storm.  We-----”

Moaning, Reuben Hinman stirred slightly then opened his eyes dreamily.

“Mr. Hinman, can you talk?” asked Dick gently.

“Ye-es,” faintly admitted the peddler.

“Then how were you hurt, sir?” Dick pressed in the same gentle voice.

“I—–­I saw the light.  Tried—–­to drive my horse—–­in.  Wagon turned over.  Fell off—–­and hurt my head,” replied the peddler, whispering hoarsely.

“You’re fully conscious, Mr. Hinman, and know just what you’re saying?” Dick pressed.

“Yes, Prescott.  I know.”

“Then no one else assaulted you to-night, sir.”

“No—–­one.”

“I feel like saying ‘thank heaven’ for that!” exclaimed Dick in a quiet voice, as he straightened up, his eyes a trifle misty.  “I hate to think that the earth holds men vile enough to strike down a weak old man like this!”

“And on such a night,” added Tom Reade.

“Oh, we’re pretty bad,” said the boss tramp, huskily, “but we didn’t do anything like that.”

“At first,” Dick went on, “I thought you hoboes had done the deed.  That was why I asked my friend to let you come in.  I wanted to keep you here until we could find someone who would take care of you.”