"Give the whistle---you know the one---if anyone comes along that's
likely to spoil the fun," was the ringleader's order.

Reuben Hinman had been deprived of the last dollar in money that
he had with him. Quaking and subdued, the old man obeyed the
order to mount his cart and drive the rig farther into the woods.

"Take the young gents along, and see that they behave themselves,"
directed the ringleader.

Dick and Dave did not yet feel in condition to offer any resistance
or defiance. Even with the two "scouts" out on the road there
were still six of the tramps left to take care of them.

The odds looked too heavy for another fight it when the last one
had been so unsuccessful.

As Dick and Dave got to their feet and started along, followed
and watched by the tramps, Dick tottered closer to his companion,
managing to whisper:

"We've got to gain time, Dave. Pretend to be weak---crippled---badly
hurt."

That was all. Prescott fell away again without his whisper having
been detected by their captors.

Before quitting the spot near the road the ringleader had scattered
the campfire so effectually that the embers would soon die out.