Besides, both law and custom forbade six boys clad only in bathing
trunks from running along the highway.

"You'll find the wagon a few miles from here!" jeered the tramp
who held the reins. "We'll leave it when we're through with it.
We-----"

But further words could not be heard for the wagon had vanished
from view at a turn in the road between the trees.

"We're in a bad pickle, now!" gasped Tom Reade.

But Dick, studying the lay of the land with swift glances, saw
just one chance. If the tramps turned the horse in the right
direction on gaining the highway-----

Dick broke off his thoughts there.

"Tom, you and Dave pursue a little way and travel like lightning,"
ordered young Prescott. "The rest of you pick up stones! Fast!
Come along now."

On reaching the highway the driver was forced to make a little
turn in order to cross the bridge, in case he decided to travel
in the direction that the boys had been going. So Dick dashed
ahead, hoping to profit by the one chance he saw.

Just as luck would have it, the tramps turned in the right direction.
The horse, galloping fast under the lash, struck his forefeet
on the bridge.