"Y-e-o-w!" yelled the lad in a high-pitched, piercing voice,
intended to confuse his enemy. And it served its purpose well.

As the men leaped upon him, Tad raised himself to all fours, his
back slightly arched. In this position he ran on hands and feet like
a monkey, darting straight between the legs of the man with the
beard.

The big man flattened himself on the ground face downward, while
Tad, who had tripped him, was well outside the ring. In an instant
the leader's fellows had dropped on him and the four men were
floundering helplessly, in what, to all appearances, might have been
a football scrimmage.

Tad was not yelling now. He was fairly flying, running on his toes
and seeking to do so without making the slightest sound.

The men quickly untangled themselves and with yells of rage bounded
from their camp in search of the one who had caused so much
disturbance. It had all happened so quickly that they had not
succeeded in getting a good look at their tormentor.

"It's a boy!" roared Bluff. "Catch him. No, shoot! Don't let him get
away!"

"Where is he!"

"I don't know. Fan the bushes, fan everything. We've got to get
him!"