"I don't know," Dick muttered. "We'll have to think that over
a bit."

"There are six of us, and we can cut good, stout clubs before
we proceed farther," suggested Greg Holmes.

"Yes, and probably, if attacked, we could finish the dog," Dick
went on. "Yet, most likely, before we did kill the brute, he'd
have bitten at least one of us."

"I'll go on, if the rest of you fellows want to," observed Danny
Grin. "At the same time, it looks like taking a big chance, doesn't
it?"

"It's taking a chance, of course," Dick admitted. "The dog may
be running yet, and we might never get within ten, or even twenty,
miles of him. Or, the officers may have caught and killed the
brute by this time. Or, the mastiff might bound at us from the
woods at any moment now."

"Whether we go back or keep on, we're fairly likely to meet the
mad dog," suggested Tom. "Mr. Chairman, I rise to move, sir,
that we cut clubs at once, and do the rest of our talking afterwards!"

"The motion is seconded and carried," called Dick, darting into
the woods. "Come on and find the clubs."

Less than forty seconds afterwards each of the six boys was cutting
a stout sapling, which he forthwith trimmed.