Dan, on the other hand, didn't care what he did, so the odds seemed
almost in his favor.

"Clear out, an' leave me to take to my heels, an' I'll call it square,"
he shouted, hoarsely. "But, if ye try to fight, then don't blame me
for anything that happens to ye. I won't go to jail, I tell ye! I'll
die, sooner!"

Jack, with his fists up, worked in as close as he could, trying to get
in under the big bully's guard for a clinch, so that Hal Hastings could
finish the work of successful attack. Dan, fighting with the fury and
strategy of desperation, kept them both off fairly well.

While the opposing forces were so occupied there came down a path out
of the woods, behind the tree against which Jaggers was backed, a third
boy. About sixteen years old he appeared to be. He wore patched
overalls, a frayed flannel shirt and a much-used straw hat of the field
variety. His hair, once brown, had many streaks of reddish tint in it,
from long exposure to the sun. His face was brick-red from the same
cause. His rather large hands looked rough enough from hard labor. But
he had frank, laughing eyes and a homely, honest look. Moreover, he
had the air of one who could be swiftly alert.

All this Jack Benson noted as soon as he caught sight of the newcomer.

"Hullo, there!" called Jack, pausing. "This fellow is a thief, and
we're trying to get him to town. Help us to get him, will you?"

"Want me to look behind me, an' then ye'll jump me, hey?" leered Dan
Jaggers. "That won't work."