ten feet of the road, Dick and Tom found themselves so wide awake
that they lay chatting for some moments.

At last Reade mumbled his answers; next his unmistakably deep
breathing indicated that he was asleep. Prescott thereupon turned
over on his side and dozed off.

It was shortly after their first few moments of sleep had passed
that a noise in the road close by awoke both boys.

Dick sat up leaning on one elbow, listening. Someone was coming
toward them.

As the stranger came closer, Dick, his eyes seeing well in the
dark, made out the unmistakable form of Reuben Hinman, the peddler.

"What's he doing out here at this hour of the night, and on foot?"
wondered Dick Prescott half aloud.

"Eh? What?" asked Reade in a low, drowsy voice, as he opened
his eyes.

"It's Mr. Hinman, the peddler," Prescott whispered to his chum.
"But I wonder what's wrong with him?"

"I wonder, too," Reade assented. "One thing is certain; something
has happened to him."

For Reuben Hinman half-lurched, half-staggered along, yet his
gait did not suggest intoxication. He moved, rather, as one who