"I reckon we'd better move, do it now, and do it fast," cried
Hazelton, who knew that Dick's judgment was generally the best.

"And leave our camp to be trampled down and made a complete wreck
by a lot of crazy cattle?" gasped Greg Holmes.

"I'd rather have the camp trampled than my face," retorted Dalzell.

"I don't want to flee from here and leave the camp to be destroyed,
and our summer's fun spoiled," protested Greg. "We must stop
the cattle, or split their stampede."

"All right, Holmesy," agreed Tom ironically. "I appoint you to
do my full share in stopping a stampede of cattle." Reade's face
had suddenly grown very grave as he now realized that the trees
were not stopping the frenzied cattle.

Dick, who had been thinking, suddenly wheeled, making a break
for the supplies.

"Get a box of matches, each one of you!" he shouted. "Then sprint
with me for that patch of sun-baked grass just north of us."

"What's the idea?" Dave asked, but Dick was already running fast.

"Get your matches and come on!" Dick called back over his shoulder.

As speedily as could be done the others followed suit. Dick reached
the sun-burned strip of grass, whose nearer edge was some two
hundred yards north of camp.