The Lake Forest captain won the choice of goals, and Rally Hall therefore had the kickoff. Amid a breathless silence, Fred measured the distance, gave a mighty swing and sent the ball sailing down toward the enemy's goal. Adams, their left end, made a good catch, but before he could run back with it, Billy Burton downed him in his tracks. The team lined up for the scrimmage on Lake Forest's forty-yard line, and the game was fairly on.

It soon became apparent that the teams were very evenly matched, and that neither would have a walkover. Back and forth they surged, neither able to make a definite gain, though most of the time it was in Lake Forest's territory. Each of the teams had the ball in turn, only to lose it before the fourth down could be made, so stubborn was the resistance.

Melvin, at centre, stood like a rock against the enemy's charges, while Billy, at quarter, reeled off the signals as steadily as a clock. Slim Haley, with his great bulk, was a tower of strength at right guard, and Madison and Ames did some savage tackling. Fred, at full, did the work of two ordinary players, and was ably helped by Thompson and Wayland, the two halfbacks. But neither side scored, and it began to look like a goose egg for each, for the first quarter.

It was two minutes from the end of the quarter, and the ball was within thirty yards of the Lake Forest goal. Ensley, the enemy's left halfback, had the ball, but in his eagerness to advance it, he fumbled it, and Billy Burton pounced upon it like a hawk. Like lightning, he passed it to Fred, who dropped back for a kick. The enemy's line bore down upon him, but too late. He lifted the ball into the air, and it soared like a bird above the bar between the posts. The Lake Forest rooters looked glum, and the home team's supporters went wild with joy.

Just then, the whistle blew, and the quarter ended, with the score three to none, in favor of Rally Hall.

"Some class to that kick, Fred!" cried Melvin, while the rest of the team gathered around and patted him on the shoulders. "I never saw a cleaner goal from field."

"All we've got to do now is to hold them down, and the game is ours," exulted Ned Wayland.

But "holding them down" was no easy task. The lead they had gained put their opponents on their mettle, and they fairly ran amuck in the second quarter. By successive rushes, they worked the ball down the field. At the ten-yard line, the Rally Hall boys braced, and the enemy lost the ball on downs. A fake forward pass, splendidly engineered by Billy and Fred, would have saved the day, but Ned, who received it, slipped, just as he turned to run. The ball dropped from his hands, and Burns, of the Lake Forests, grabbed it on the bound and went over the line for a touchdown.

"Five points for Lake Forest!" yelled one of their rooters.

"Six points, you mean," shouted his neighbor. "Wake up."

"Why, I thought a touchdown counted five," was the answer.

"It used to, but under the new rules it counts for six."

"So much the better! We need every point we can get," the other chuckled. "See, there's another one to the good," as Burns kicked the goal.

"Hurrah! That's the way to do it!"

"Now keep it up, Lake Forest!"

"Hurrah! hurrah!"

It was now the visitors' turn to cheer. They shook their rattles, blew their horns, danced up and down and yelled like madmen.



CHAPTER XXI

A DESPERATE STRUGGLE

"We've got our work cut out for us," said Melvin grimly, as, after their brief rest, the teams lined up for the third quarter.

"Don't worry, Mel, we've just begun to fight," was Fred's reassuring answer.

The fighting blood of both teams was up now, and they scrapped like wildcats for the slightest advantage. Twice during the period, Fortune seemed about to smile on the home team, but each time the smile faded into a frown, and the hearts of their supporters went down into their boots.

Once, on the Lake Forest thirty-yard line, the home boys tried out a trick play that Professor Raymond had taught them. The ball was passed to Fred, apparently for him to make a drop kick. But instead of doing this, he started to skirt the end. The opposing halfback thought that this was a fake to draw in the end. He hesitated to come in, therefore, and in the meantime Fred kept on running behind the scrimmage line, until the halfback did not dare to wait any longer, as it seemed to be a dead sure thing that Fred was going to circle the end. In the meantime, Melvin had had time to get down the field, and Fred turned about swiftly, just as the halfback reached out for him, and sent the ball like a shot to Melvin. It was a pretty play, and nine times out of ten would have got by, but just as it had almost reached Melvin's outstretched hands, Barton, the opposing left tackle, touched it with the tips of his fingers, just enough to deflect it from its course. Ensley grabbed it, and it was Lake Forest's ball.

"What do you think of that for luck?" growled Slim disgustedly.

"They're sure getting all the breaks," agreed Billy.

"Never mind, fellows!" sang out Melvin. "Buck up. We'll beat them yet."

But the gloom of the Rally Hall rooters became still deeper a few minutes later, when a beautiful drop kick of Fred's that was going straight for the goal was blown by a puff of wind just enough to graze the post on the wrong side.

There was no more scoring in that period, and the quarter ended with Lake Forest still in the lead.

"Now, fellows," said Melvin, as they came out to do or die in the last quarter, "it's our last chance. Go at them and rip up their line. Go through them like a prairie fire. We won't try drop kicking. Even if we got a goal from the field, they'd still be ahead, and the time's too short to make two of them. The only thing that'll do us any good is a touchdown. We must win! Hammer the heart out of them! Tear them to pieces!"

And the boys responded nobly. They charged hard and played fast. They plunged into the lines of their opponents like so many wild men. Every member of the team played as though the victory depended on him alone. Down the field they went, in one desperate raging charge that carried all before it. Only once did they fail to make their distance, and even then they got the ball back promptly.

But time was on the enemy's side. They fought back savagely and contested every inch. Six, eight, ten minutes went by, while the ball was traveling down the field, and when the teams faced each other, pale, panting, covered with dust and sweat, on Lake Forest's ten-yard line, only three minutes of playing time remained.

All the spectators now were on their feet, yelling wildly, and the tumult was fearful.

"Brace, fellows, brace!" screamed Eggleston, the Lake Forest captain. "Throw 'em back! Don't give an inch!"

Melvin selected Fred for the final plunge.

"Go to it, old scout," he said. "This is the third down. For heaven's sake, make it."

Fred's eyes were blazing.

"Watch me," he said.

Billy made a perfect snap to Melvin, who passed the ball to Fred like a flash. Haley and Ames made a hole between left guard and tackle, and Fred, with lowered head, plunged in like a battering ram. The whole team piled in after him, and when at last he was downed, he had gained six yards of the coveted space.

Dizzy and bruised, he rose to his feet.

"We've got 'em going!" yelled Melvin. "One more does it!"

"Hold 'em, boys, hold 'em!" shouted Eggleston. "This is their last down."

"Rushton! Rushton! Rushton!" the stands were shouting.

"They're counting on you, you see," said Melvin.

Fred's muscles grew taut, and he braced for one final effort.

Once more the ball was passed, and, like a thunderbolt, he went into the line between centre and guard.

The whole Lake Forest team threw themselves upon him, but there was no stopping him. Ploughing, raging, tearing, he went through them and over the line for a touchdown!

"Look at that!"

"Great work! Hurrah!"

Rally Hall had won the game in the last minute of play!

The stands went crazy, and after the goal had been kicked, making the final score ten to seven, the crowd swept down over the field, hoisted Fred upon their shoulders and marched up and down yelling like Indians. It was all he could do to get away from them and to the shower baths and dressing rooms of the gymnasium.

Here he met with another ovation from the team itself. They were all in a state of the highest delight and excitement at winning the game that had seemed so surely lost, and they insisted on giving him the chief credit for the victory.

"Nonsense," he protested, "I didn't do a thing more than any one else. It takes eleven men to win a football game."

Professor Raymond was warm in his congratulations, and even Dr. Rally, who had seen the game from a portion of the stand reserved for the teaching staff, so far unbent as to stop for a moment and tell him that he had done "very well, very well indeed."

"Say," murmured Slim, after the doctor had passed on, "even Hardtack is human. He's got something beside ice water in his veins."

"Sure!" assented Billy, "I'll bet the old chap's tickled to death to see Rally Hall put one over on Lake Forest."

Eggleston, the captain of the Lake Forest team, who had a few minutes before train time, also was generous enough to come in and shake hands with his conquerors. He was a fine, manly fellow, and took his beating like a gentleman.

"You sure have a dandy fullback," he said to Melvin. "You've been pretty foxy in keeping him under cover. We hadn't any idea what we were going up against."

"Isn't he a pippin?" said Melvin enthusiastically. "You'd have copped the game all right, if it hadn't been for him."

"He's some line bucker," assented Eggleston. "I got in his way once, and he stood me on my head. You might as well try to stop an express train."

"It's hard to flag that kind of a train," laughed Melvin.

"Sure thing," grinned Eggleston. "Well, so long. I'll just have time to get to the station. We'll try to even things up next year."

As the boys were strolling back to the Hall, they passed Andy Shanks and Sid Wilton talking earnestly together. They were so absorbed that they did not see Fred and his companion.

"Wonder what they're hatching up now?" laughed Fred.

"Some mischief, I'll be bound," answered Granger. "It isn't the first time I've seen them putting their heads together lately, and somehow or other, I rather think it has to do with you."

"Nonsense!" said Fred lightly.

"Maybe it's nonsense and maybe it's not," replied Melvin soberly. "I know Andy pretty well, and I'm dead sure he'll never forget the show you made of him before the other fellows. At any rate keep your eyes wide open and look out for squalls."

"I'll take a chance," laughed Fred.

"Don't take too many," Melvin warned him. "Of course, I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that he's out to do you."

Melvin was a better prophet than he knew.



CHAPTER XXII

ANDY SHANKS GETS BUSY

There were great times on the campus that night. By a special decree of Dr. Rally, the regular study period was omitted, and after supper the boys had full liberty to do as they pleased until bedtime, provided they did not stray beyond the limits of the grounds.

They built a bonfire and paraded about it, carrying brooms to indicate the clean sweep they had made of the game. They cheered the team in general, and then cheered each separate member in particular. They cheered the final touchdown and the boy who had made it. They cheered Professor Raymond, and even raised a doubtful cheer for Dr. Rally. They were ready to cheer for anything or anybody that offered them the slightest excuse. They yelled for speeches from Granger, the captain, and from Fred, the hero of the day.

Tony Dirocco brought out his violin and played a series of rollicking tunes that set their feet to jigging and their hands to clapping. Billy was made to sing his choicest songs until he was hoarse. Then they all gathered on the broad steps, and lifted up their young voices in the old school songs that swelled out into the night. And it was a tired, but thoroughly happy crowd that scattered at last and went reluctantly to their rooms.

Altogether, it had been one of the greatest days and nights that Rally Hall had ever known. Fred had won his spurs and established his footing firmly in the school. He had been popular from the first in his own dormitory, but now he was known and liked by all the boys at the Hall.

Except, of course, by Andy Shanks, Sid Wilton, and a few of their stripe. Andy, if possible, hated him now worse than ever. It had been gall and wormwood for him when Fred had made the touchdown.

He, himself, had had an ambition to play on the team. He was big and heavy enough for a place in the line. But he was stupid in getting the signals and slow in running down under kicks. Besides, he was a trouble maker on the team, disobeying the captain and quarreling with the other members. They had tried him for a while, but he was of no use, and both Granger and Professor Raymond had ruled him out.

So that he was doubly angered at Fred for having made a brilliant success where he had scored a dismal failure. He had hoped to put Fred in bad repute with the boys by giving him a beating. But since that day on the campus when Fred had defied him and dared him to come on, he had lost all ambition in that direction.

But he was more determined than ever to crush him by hook or by crook, and he cudgeled his slow brain to find a way that would be safe for himself and disastrous to Fred.

As the weeks went by, however, and nothing occurred to him, he began almost to despair.

But the Evil One is said to "look after his own," and as the Christmas holidays drew nearer, Andy had an inspiration.

The winter weather set in unusually early, and the air was sharp and stinging. A score or more of the boys were down in the gymnasium, chinning the bar and swinging in the rings.

"If this kind of weather keeps up," said Melvin, "it won't be long before we have skating. There's ice forming on the lake now, down near the edges."

"Over the ice-bound lake we fly, Swift as the wind and free,"

chanted Tom Eldridge, as he made a flying leap from one horizontal bar to the next.

"'Swift' all right, but it won't be 'free,'" grumbled Billy Burton. "I won't feel 'free,' till I get those awful examinations off my mind. They'll be here now in less than a week, and I can't think of anything else."

"They'll be pretty tough, do you think?" asked Fred.

"Tough!" broke in Slim, "they'll be as tough as a pine knot. Professor Raymond is a shark on algebra. He'd rather solve a problem than eat. And because it's so easy for him, he thinks it ought to be easy for us, too. He puts down corkers for us to do, and then looks at us in pained surprise if we think they're hard. If I get through this time, it'll be due to a special providence."

"I wish we knew what he was going to ask, beforehand," sighed Billy. "Couldn't we bone up on them then? I'd get a hundred per cent. sure."

"Wouldn't it be bully, if we were mind readers, and knew just what questions he was going to put on that printed list?" laughed Fred.

"The first glimpse we'll get of that printed list will be when they're plumped down on the desk in front of us the day of the examination," said Ned Wayland. "They'll be kept snug under lock and key until then."

"Yes," chimed in Tom, "and the prof's so foxy that he doesn't even have them printed in town, for fear that some copy might get into some of the fellows' hands. He sends them away to some city to be printed, and they're sent back to him by registered mail."

"I'll bet that was the package I saw him putting away in his desk yesterday!" exclaimed Fred. "It was a long manila envelope, stuffed with something that crackled, and it had a lot of sealing wax on it. I noticed that he seemed to be very careful of it, and put it away under a lot of other papers before he locked his desk."

"Likely enough, those were the examination slips," said Billy.

"We'll see them soon enough, but then it'll be too late to do any good," remarked Melvin.

The conversation took another turn and the subject was forgotten for the time.

Andy, busy at one of the rings, had overheard the talk, although he had not joined in it because of the terms on which he was with Fred and his friends. He had pricked up his ears at Fred's laughing remark about mind reading, and from then on he had followed closely all that had been said about the papers. An idea had suddenly come into his mind, and a slow, evil smile spread over his face as he turned it over and over.

Two nights later, Fred woke from his sleep about midnight, conscious that something was bothering him. He found that it was the moon, which was just then at the full, and was shining in his face. He rose, and went to the window to draw down the shade.

The campus was flooded with light and Fred stood for a moment, enjoying the beauty of the scene.

Suddenly, something moving beneath him attracted his attention.

The buildings threw a heavy shadow, made all the deeper by contrast with the moonlight beyond. But Fred could just make out a moving figure coming down the steps swiftly, and crouching as though to avoid detection.

At first he thought it was the dog belonging to Big Sluper, the janitor. But as the figure turned around the corner of the building, he saw that it was a boy, rather slight in figure. His hat was drawn over his eyes and his coat over the lower part of his face, so that it was impossible to recognize him.

"That's queer," mused Fred. "I wonder who he was and what he was doing at this time of night."

But the floor was cold and his eyes were heavy with sleep, and he did not debate the problem long. He crept back into the warm bed, drew the covers over him, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE BLOW FALLS

The next day, after school hours, Professor Raymond opened his desk to get a paper that he wanted. He was about to close it again, when something in the tumbled condition of its contents, attracted his attention. He reached sharply over to the lower right-hand corner, and felt for a package that he knew had been there the day before.

A startled look came into his face, and he felt again more carefully. Then he hastily took out everything that the desk contained.

He sat down in his chair with a jolt, and a grim expression came into his eyes. Then he made a painstaking examination of the lock.

It had not been broken, nor was there any other evidence that violence had been used.

He took out his penknife and scraped the lock. A tiny shaving of something soft was brought out by the blade, and close examination showed that it was wax.

He rang the bell for the janitor, and when Big Sluper came in, he motioned him to a chair.

"Sluper," he said abruptly, "my desk was robbed last night."

"What!" cried Sluper, starting up. "How could that be? Are you sure, sir?"

"Perfectly sure," replied the professor. "I only wish I were not. But I had a valuable package in here yesterday, and now it's gone."

"Why, nothing of that kind has ever happened before," said Sluper, much agitated. "Did the thief take anything else?"

"No," replied Professor Raymond. "And it was no outsider that took the package. There was a little money in the desk, and any ordinary thief would have taken that. Besides, the papers that were taken would have been of no value to any one outside the school. They were the examination slips for the next algebra test. Sluper, we've a thief right here in Rally Hall."

"I'd be sorry to think that, sir," said the dismayed janitor. "I can't think of any of the boys who might do such a thing."

"But some one of them did, just the same," replied the professor. "See here," and he showed the janitor the shaving of wax.

"That proves that it was all planned beforehand," he said. "An outside thief would have had a skeleton key, or simply pried it open with a jimmy. But somebody has taken a wax impression of the lock and had a key made to fit.

"Keep this thing perfectly quiet for a time," the teacher cautioned. "Be on the watch for anything suspicious you may see or hear among the boys. And I want you to go down town to Kelly's, the locksmith. Get into a talk with him, and bring the conversation round to the subject of duplicate keys, and how they're made. If he's done anything of that kind lately, he may drop a hint of it. He'd have no reason to keep quiet, for he's an honest man and wouldn't do a crooked thing. If he's made such a key, the thief has given him some plausible reason for getting it made. Find out anything you can, and let me know at once. But, above all things, don't let the matter get out."

The janitor, badly confused, went away on his mission, while Professor Raymond sought out Dr. Rally to lay the matter before him. If it had been an ordinary case, he would have acted on his own discretion. But this was altogether too serious, involving as it did the good name of one of the scholars, and, to a certain extent, the reputation of the school itself.

He found the doctor in his office, and laid the matter before him, giving him all the details that he knew himself and telling of his instructions to the janitor.

Dr. Rally was white hot with amazement and indignation.

"The rascal shall suffer for it if we catch him!" he announced, with a grimness that would have delighted Aaron Rushton and confirmed him in his admiration for the doctor's sternness. "I'll dismiss him. I'll disgrace him. I'll make such an example of him that nothing of the kind will ever happen in this school again."

His eyes flashed under his shaggy brows, and the fist he brought down on the desk clenched till the knuckles showed white.

"But what could have been the motive?" he asked, as he grew more composed. "Of course, we can understand why some one might want to know the questions that were going to be asked. But why did they take the whole package? One slip would have done as well as fifty. Then, too, they might know that if the whole package were taken, you would simply call the examination off, as soon as you had missed them, and make out a new set of questions. Then they'd have had all their trouble and risk for nothing."

"It is curious," answered Raymond. "If the idea was simply to get advance information to help some boy through with the test, the only way to do it was to take one copy and leave the rest of the slips there, trusting me not to notice that the package had been tampered with.

"My theory is that he meant to do this, but perhaps was frightened away by some sound, and didn't have time to do it. In that case, he may take out one of the slips and try to put the package back to-night. The examination doesn't take place till day after to-morrow, and he may figure that I haven't missed them. As a matter of fact, it was only by the merest chance that I did miss them to-day."

"Well, let us hope that he will try it," said Doctor Rally. "We'll have Sluper stay in your office all night and nab him if he comes."

Sluper came back from his trip to town and reported that Kelly knew nothing of the matter. Nor had he heard of anything among the boys that might throw light on the mystery.

He kept a careful watch that night in Professor Raymond's office, but without result.

The next day there was something in the atmosphere of Rally Hall that made every one feel that a storm was brewing. The air was electric with signs of trouble. Nothing had been allowed to leak out, but any one could see that something was the matter, though without the slightest idea of what it was.

Doctor Rally was more snappy and gruff than they had ever seen him, and Professor Raymond went about his work in a brooding and absent-minded way, that, with him, was most unusual.

"What's come over Raymond to-day?" asked Fred. "He looks as though he were going to the electric chair."

"He certainly does have plenty of the gloom stuff," agreed Billy.

"Off his feed, perhaps," suggested Slim, to whom nothing seemed more tragic than a loss of appetite.

"Into each life some rain must fall, Some days be dark and dreary,"

quoted Tom.

Fred laughed and made a pass at him, little thinking how soon the lines would apply to himself.

In his mail that afternoon, the professor received a letter. There was nothing about it to identify the writer. In fact, there was no writing, as both the address and the letter itself were printed in rough, sprawling letters. It read this way:

"Look in Fred Rushton's locker."

The professor was thunderstruck. For several minutes, he sat staring at the printed words without moving a muscle.

The first shock of amazement gave place to a sharp, gripping pain.

It could not be a coincidence. In the present condition of affairs, this mysterious note could refer only to one thing—the missing slips of the algebra test.

Fred Rushton! He, of all boys! Why, he would almost have been ready to stake his life on the lad's honesty. He was so frank, so square, so "white." The professor had grown to have the warmest kind of a liking for him. In study and in sport, he had stood in the first rank, and so far there had not been the slightest stain on his record.

No, it could not be possible that he had done this dastardly thing. He was almost tempted to tear the letter up.

And yet—and yet——

He must make sure.

He went to the office of Doctor Rally. From there, after a short conference, he went in search of Fred.

"Would you mind letting me take a look at your locker, Rushton?" he asked carelessly.

"Why, certainly not," answered Fred promptly, but wonderingly.

They went to the dormitory which at that hour was deserted.

"Here you are, Professor," he said, opening the locker.

There were some clothes lying there, neatly folded. The professor picked them up.

There, with the seals still unbroken, lay the missing package!



CHAPTER XXIV

A PUZZLING CASE

Professor Raymond picked the package up and examined it carefully. There was no sign of tampering with the seals. It was in precisely the same condition as when he had received it.

"Well," he said, as he looked coldly and accusingly at Fred, "what have you got to say?"

Fred was looking at the package with wide open and horrified eyes. He groped for words in his bewilderment, but his tongue seemed unable to utter them. The silence grew painful.

"Why," he managed to stammer, at last, "I don't know what to say. I hadn't any idea that there was anything in the locker, except my clothes."

"How could it have got there unless you put it there?" pursued the professor.

"I don't know," replied Fred, his head still whirling, "unless some one else put it there by mistake, thinking it was his own locker. I certainly never saw the package before. That is," as he looked at it more closely, "I think I did see it once."

"Oh, you did, eh?" said Professor Raymond quickly. "And when was that?"

"Two or three days ago," answered Fred. "I was gathering up my books in your office, and I saw you put in your desk a package that looked just like this one."

The professor's heart grew sick within him, as every new item seemed to connect Fred more closely with the theft.

"You knew then that it was in my desk?" he went on. "Did you have any idea of what the package contained?"

"Not then," answered Fred. "But, a little while afterward I was talking with some of the fellows in the gymnasium, and they said it probably held the examination slips for the algebra test."

"Do you remember anything else you said at that time?" asked the cross-examiner.

"No-o," began Fred slowly. "Oh, yes, I remember saying what fun it would be if one were a mind reader and could know just what you were going to ask.

"But, Professor," he broke out, as the significance of all these questions dawned upon him, "you don't think for the minute, do you, that I stole this package from your desk?"

"I hardly know what to think," replied the professor sadly, "but I want you to come right over with me to Doctor Rally's office."

Utterly stunned and overwhelmed by the blow that had fallen upon him, Fred followed the professor. His limbs dragged, as though he were walking in a nightmare. They crossed the campus, and went straight to the room where Doctor Rally awaited them.

He motioned them to chairs, and sat there, stern and implacable as Fate, his eyes seeming to bore Fred through and through, while the professor told of the finding of the papers in Fred's locker, and the explanation, or rather the lack of explanation, that Fred had offered.

"Well, young man," the doctor said, and, although his eyes were flaming, his words were as cold as ice, "you seem to have put the rope around your own neck by your admissions. Have you anything else to say?"

"What can I say?" burst out Fred desperately. "If telling the truth has put the rope around my neck, I can't help it. I didn't take the papers, and don't know a single thing about them. Every single word I've said is true."

"But the papers were found in your locker," returned the inquisitor coldly, "and they couldn't have got there of their own accord. Some one put them there. If you didn't, who did?"

"I don't know," said Fred miserably.

"Have you any enemy in the school, who might have done it?" asked Professor Raymond.

"Not that I know of," answered Fred. "That is——" the thought of Andy flashed across his mind, but he was too generous to give it utterance. "No," he went on, "I don't think of anybody who could be mean enough to put the thing off on me."

"Is there anything that might have any connection with this matter that you haven't yet told us?" continued his questioner.

"Only one thing," replied Fred, to whom at that moment came the recollection of what he had seen in the moonlight. "I did see a fellow going away from the Hall the other night after twelve o'clock."

"Ah," came from both men, bending forward, and then they questioned him carefully about the size and general appearance of the midnight skulker.

"Why didn't you tell some of us about that at the time?" asked Doctor Rally severely.

"I suppose I ought to have done so," was the answer, "but I was cold and sleepy, and the next day I forgot all about it."

There was a long silence, while Doctor Rally pondered. He broke it at last by saying:

"I want to be entirely just to you, Rushton. I am not ready to condemn you on this evidence, though I will not deny that things look dark for you. I shall look into the matter further, and when I have reached a decision I will let you know. That is all for the present."

He nodded a dismissal, and Fred, picking up his hat, stumbled blindly from the room.

The two men who held his fate in their hands, stared at each other for a long minute without speaking.

"It looks bad," said Doctor Rally, at last, "and I am more sorry than I can tell, that he should be mixed up in such a wretched mess. His parents are the finest kind of people, and his uncle is a particular friend of mine."

"Do you think that he is guilty, then?" asked the professor.

"What else can I think?" said the doctor gloomily. "Everything seems to indicate it. The facts are like so many spokes of a wheel, all leading to the hub, and that hub is Rushton.

"Who knew that the examination papers were in your desk? Rushton. Who had been wishing he were a mind reader, so that he might know what questions you were going to ask? Rushton. Who saw, or says he saw a mysterious marauder coming from the building at midnight, and yet said nothing to any one about it? Rushton. And, above all, who actually had the missing package in his locker? Rushton.

"Of course, all this is circumstantial evidence. But sometimes that is the strongest kind. Naturally, he would take the greatest care not to have any witnesses to the theft. The proof seems strong and many a man has been hung on less."

"That is true," admitted the other thoughtfully, "but there are many things, too, to be said on the other side.

"In the first place, there is the boy's character up to this time. He ought to have the full advantage of that, and certainly he has seemed to be one of the most upright and straightforward boys in the entire school. I haven't had a black mark against him, and neither has any of the other teachers.

"Then, too, what motive did he have for taking them? He's very bright, especially in mathematics, for which he has a natural gift. He's always up in the nineties somewhere in his marks. He hadn't the slightest reason to fear the examinations.

"And I can't understand his manner, if he is guilty. When I first spoke to him, instead of being the least bit flustered, he wasn't at all slow in taking me straight to the locker. And when we caught sight of the papers, he was just as much dumfounded as I was myself, more so if anything, because I had had a hint that they were there.

"Why did he tell us about the talk in the gymnasium? He didn't need to say a word about it. Yet he blurted it out without any hesitation. Either the boy is innocent, or he's one of the finest actors I ever saw."

"What is your theory, then?" asked the doctor. "Do you think that somebody, in his haste to conceal the papers, mistook Rushton's locker for his own?"

"Hardly that," replied Professor Raymond. "The matter was too important for such carelessness. The papers were put there deliberately."

"By whom?"

"By the person who wrote this letter," and the professor took from his pocket the scrap of paper he had received that afternoon.



CHAPTER XXV

TO THE RESCUE

The master of Rally Hall and Professor Raymond knitted their brows as they studied the scrawl. There was absolutely no clue, except that it bore the Green Haven postmark on the envelope, and had been mailed that morning.

"One of the boys sent it, without a doubt," went on the professor. "He knew we were familiar with his handwriting and so printed the letter."

"Might not the writer, whoever he is, have seen Rushton hide the package, and chosen this method to tell on him?" queried the doctor.

"I would go further than that," said the other slowly. "I believe that the writer of this note deliberately stole the package and put it in Rushton's locker, in order to bring disgrace on him."

"It's hard to think that there is such a despicable wretch as that in Rally Hall," said Doctor Rally, bringing his clenched fist down on his desk.

"So it is," replied the other, "but to believe that Fred Rushton stole them is harder yet."

"Who, in the whole body of students, do you believe is capable of such a thing?" asked the doctor.

"Only one," was the cautious answer, "but, in the total absence of proof, it wouldn't perhaps be fair to name him."

"I think I know whom you have in mind," rejoined the master. "Here," tearing two bits of paper from a sheet on his desk, "in order that our guess be independent, you write a name on this piece of paper and I will write on this. Then we will compare."

The professor did so. Then they laid the papers side by side.

Each bore the same name, "Shanks."

"He's a poor stick," mused the doctor, "but I'd hate to think that he'd sink as low as this. And, of course, so far, it is purely guess work. He may be as innocent as the driven snow. Has he ever had any trouble with Rushton?"

"Not that I know of," was the answer, "although at one time I came upon them when they seemed to have been having words," and Professor Raymond narrated the affair on the campus.

"Well," Doctor Rally wound up the discussion by saying, "for the present, we suspend judgment. Keep a sharp eye on both Rushton and Shanks. I'll not rest until I have probed this thing to the bottom."

In the meantime Fred had gone to his room utterly crushed and despondent. The whole thing had come on him like a thunderbolt. In half an hour, from being one of the happiest boys in the school he had become the most miserable.

It seemed to him as though all his world had fallen into ruins. To be accused of theft, to be, perhaps, driven in disgrace from Rally Hall, to have all his relatives and friends know of the awful charge against him! For a time, he felt that he would go crazy.

Teddy, who was the only one in whom he could confide, was studying when Fred dragged himself in.

"Oh, Ted," he groaned, as he threw himself down on his bed.

"What's the matter, Fred?" exclaimed Teddy, leaping to his feet in alarm, as he saw the blank misery in his brother's eyes.

"They think I'm a thief," moaned Fred.

"Who thinks so? What do you mean?" and Teddy fairly shouted.

"Doctor Rally and Professor Raymond," was the answer. "They think I stole the examination papers."

"Stole! Stole!" roared Teddy. "Why, they're crazy! What makes them think anything like that?"

"They'd been taken from Professor Raymond's desk, and they found them in my locker."

He blurted out the whole story and Teddy was wild with grief and rage. But in the absence of the slightest clue, they were unable to do anything but await events while they ate their hearts out in silence.

A week went by without results. The winter had set in in earnest, and the lake was coated with ice, thick enough for skating.

Fred had been looking forward to hockey and skating, in both of which he took great delight. But now, he had little interest in them, and kept as much as possible to himself.

The boys, of course, saw that something had happened, and did all they could to cheer him up.

"You've simply got to come to-day, Fred," said Melvin, one bright December day, bursting into the room, his eyes dancing and his cheeks glowing with the frost. "It's just one peach of a day, and the ice is as smooth as glass.

"Nothing doing," he went on, as Fred started to protest. "Come along, fellows, and we'll rush him down to the lake. A bird that can skate and won't skate must be made to skate."

"I never heard of a bird skating," objected Fred, but yielded, as the whole laughing throng closed around him and hurried him out of doors.

Once on the ice, with the inspiring feeling of the skates beneath him, with the tingling air bringing the blood to his cheeks, and the glorious expanse of the frozen lake beckoning to him, the "blues" left him for a time, and he was his natural self again, all aglow with the mere delight of living.

He had gone around the lower end of the lake, and was making a wide sweep to return when he passed Andy Shanks and Sid Wilton. They shot a malicious look at him as they passed, and he saw them whisper to each other.

Once more he made the circuit of the lake, with long swinging strokes, his spirits steadily rising as the keen air nipped his face and put him in a glow from head to foot.

At the northern end of the lake was a bluff about twenty feet high. As there had been two or three heavy snowfalls already that winter, the top of the bluff held a mass of snow and ice that was many feet deep. The wind had hollowed out the lower part of the drifts so that the upper part overhung the lake for some distance from the shore.

A group of boys, including Andy Shanks and his toady, Sid Wilton, were playing "snap-the-whip." Shanks had put his "valet," as the boys called him, at the extreme end, and, although this was the most dangerous point and Wilton had little relish for it, he had not dared to object to anything that Andy wanted.

As Fred approached, the "whip" was "snapped"

Skating at full speed, the long line straightened out and Wilton was let go. He shot away from the others, trying to skirt the edge of the ice so as to avoid the shore and sweep out into the open. But the space was too narrow and he went into the bluff with a crash.

He scrambled up, jarred and bruised, and just as he did so, Fred saw the great overhanging mass of snow on the top of the bluff sway forward.

"Jump!" he yelled. "The snow! Quick! For your lives!"

The other boys looked up and skated from under. Sid made a desperate lunge forward, but too late. With a sullen roar the snow came down and buried him from sight.

There were exclamations of fright and horror. Andy skated away, panic-stricken. Most of the boys lost their heads. Two or three shouted for help.

Fred alone remained cool. With one motion, he unclamped his skates and threw them from him. The next instant he had plunged into the tons of snow and his arms were working like flails as he threw the masses aside.

"Quick, fellows!" he shouted. "Go at it, all of you! He'll smother if we don't get him out right away!"

Inspired by his example, the others pitched in, working like beavers. Other boys coming up aided in the work of cleaving a way to their imprisoned schoolmate.

Their frantic energy soon brought results.

"I touched him then, fellows!" cried Fred. "Hurry, hurry," he added, as he himself put forth redoubled efforts.

A few minutes more and they had uncovered Sid's head and shoulders. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be unconscious.

"We're getting him," exulted Fred, forgetful of his hands that were torn and bleeding from tearing at the ice mixed with the snow.

He grabbed Sid under the arms.

"Now, fellows," he cried, "get hold of me and when I say pull——"

But just then there was a startled cry:

"Look out! There's more coming!"

Fred looked up and saw that another enormous mass was slipping slowly over the edge.

The other boys jumped back, but Fred remained. He tugged frantically, putting forth all his strength. One more desperate pull and he fell back on the ice, dragging Sid with him. At the same instant a tremendous mass of snow came down, one heavy block of ice just grazing him where he lay, panting and breathless.

"Fred, old boy, that was a grand thing for you to do!" cried Melvin, who with Teddy had just come up; and the sentiment was echoed by all the others who clustered admiringly around him.

"Oh, that was nothing," disclaimed Fred. "We've got to get a hustle on now and take him to the Hall."

They carried the unconscious Sid to his dormitory, and medical aid was called at once. The doctor worked over him vigorously, and was soon able to predict that in a day or two he would be all right again.

Fred took a hot bath and changed into other clothes, and had soon shaken off all the shock of the accident.

He had barely finished supper when a message was brought to him that Sid wanted to see him.

He went at once, without any thought of what awaited him.



CHAPTER XXVI

SID WILTON TELLS

Fred found Wilton propped up in bed, in a room off the main dormitory that was used in cases of sickness or accident. He looked very white and weak, and, although Fred had never liked the boy, he felt sincerely sorry that he had had such a shock.

He reached out his hand with a friendly smile, and Wilton grasped it eagerly.

"I can't thank you enough for pulling me out of the snowfall, Rushton," he said. "I don't remember much about it after it once buried me, but they tell me that I was all in when you got me. It was an awfully plucky thing for you to do, to hang on when that second mass was coming down, and I don't believe there's another fellow in school that would have taken the chance."

"Oh, yes there are, plenty of them," said Fred heartily. "I just happened to be the nearest one to you. I'm glad to hear that you will be all right again in a little while."

"All right in body, perhaps," said Sid with a faint smile, "but I won't be all right in mind till I tell you something you ought to know."

"What do you mean?" said Fred wonderingly.

Sid turned to the boy who was sitting in the room to wait upon him.

"Would you mind leaving me alone with Rushton for a few minutes, Henley?" he asked.

"Sure thing!" answered Henley, rising. "I'll come in again later on."

He left the room; and Sid turned to Fred.

"It's about the examination papers," he said, shamefacedly.

Fred's heart gave a leap as though it would jump out of his body.

"What do you mean?" he cried excitedly.

"I mean," and Sid's face went red with the shame of the confession, "that Andy Shanks and I put up a job on you. We took the papers and put them in your locker, so that Professor Raymond would think you stole them. There, it's out now."

The room seemed to be whirling about Fred. The blood pounded madly through his veins. With an effort he steadied himself.

"What?" he shouted. "You did that?"

"It was a dirty trick, I know," went on the younger boy, not venturing to meet the eyes of the youth he had wronged, "and I'd give anything I've got in the world if I hadn't done it. But Andy——"

"Wait," cried Fred, jumping up, "wait till I can get Professor Raymond over here, so that he can hear what you've got to say."

"No need of that," said a deep voice, and Professor Raymond advanced from the door towards the bed. "I was coming in to see how Wilton was getting along, and, as the door was ajar, I heard what he was saying."

He looked sadly and sternly at Sid, who cowered down on his pillow.

"You have done a terrible thing, Wilton," he said; "but you're weak and sick now, and what I have to say and do will be postponed to a later time. Now, go ahead and tell us all about it from beginning to end."

With trembling voice Sid went on:

"Andy was down in the gymnasium one day, and he heard Rushton say that he had seen you put a package in your desk, and one of the other fellows said that they were probably the examination slips. He was sore at Rushton because of something that had happened on the train coming here, and because, later on, Rushton had faced him down on the campus. So he went off to another town, after I had got a wax impression from the lock of your desk, and had a key made to fit. Then I opened your desk one night and got the package. I watched my chance till there was no one in Number Three Dormitory, and hid the papers in Rushton's locker. Then Andy printed a letter to you, telling you where to look."

"We didn't know for sure what happened after that, but Rushton has been so down in the mouth, that we felt sure the plan worked. Andy expected him every day to be sent away from the school, and he didn't know why he was allowed to hang on. I felt awfully mean about it, because Rushton had never done anything to me. But Andy was my friend and it seemed that I had to do anything he asked me, no matter what."

"But after what Rushton did for me to-day, I simply had to tell him about it. He saved my life——"

Here his voice faltered, and Sid hid his face in his hands.

A few more questions and they left him, shamed to the marrow by what he had done, but relieved at getting the thing off his conscience.

Outside the room, Professor Raymond turned to Fred.

"Rushton," he said, "this confession will be laid before Doctor Rally at once, and you can trust us to deal with Shanks. In the meantime, I want to shake hands with you, and tell you how delighted I am to have this thing cleared up. It must have been a fearful strain on you, but you have borne yourself nobly. And your brave act of to-day only confirms me in what I have felt all along, that you were a credit to Rally Hall."

Fred stammered some words of thanks and was off to break the glorious news to his brother.

Teddy went wild with delight.

"Glory, hallelujah!" he shouted, catching Fred in his arms and dancing around the room.

"Hey, what's the matter with you fellows?" called out Lester Lee, as they gyrated about. "You act as though you'd just got money from home."

"Better than that, eh, Ted?" beamed Fred, his face radiant with happiness.

"You bet it is," chuckled Teddy.

"Better than money, eh?" grunted Lester. "It must be pretty good then. But bear in mind that this is a respectable joint, and if you don't stop acting rough house, I'll call a cop and have you pinched."

But it was a long time before they could sober down. The reaction was so great that they laughed and chattered and whooped like a pair of lunatics.

Fred felt as though he were walking on air. The black cloud was lifted. His good name was given back to him. He stood untarnished before the world.

"What are you going to do to Andy?" asked Teddy.

"Do?" replied Fred. "I'm going to lick him to a frazzle."

But Doctor Rally got at Andy first.

That very night, he sent for him and confronted him with the confession. Andy, true to his nature, tried to lie out of it, but, under the searching questions of the head of the school, he broke down and confessed. Then Doctor Rally, in words that stung and blistered even Andy's thick hide, told him that he was a disgrace to the school, and commanded him to leave Rally Hall, bag and baggage, within twenty-four hours.

Andy begged and blubbered, but to no purpose. His offence was too dastardly and contemptible. The doctor, doubly enraged because he had so nearly condemned an innocent lad, justified the reputation for sternness that Uncle Aaron had given him.

Andy slunk away white and shaken, and the next morning the whole school was surprised to learn that he had gone for good.

"Humph!" exclaimed Fred, when he heard the news, "I wish he'd waited just one day more. Now, I suppose we've seen the last of him."

But Fred was mistaken. He had not yet seen the last of Andy Shanks.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE BASEBALL TEAM

The rest of the winter passed rapidly, and Fred, with the load off his mind, pitched into all the winter sports, making up royally for all he had missed in the dark days when he was under suspicion.

He and Teddy had gone home for the Christmas holidays, taking with them Bill Garwood and Lester Lee, to whom they had become warmly attached. Mr. and Mrs. Rushton had outdone themselves to give them a good time, and Martha, her black face shining, had made the table fairly groan with the good things she heaped upon it for her "lambs" and their friends.

The days had slipped away like magic. The visitors had had the time of their lives, and both Bill and Lester had insisted that the boys should come to see them in the summer vacation. They had a partial promise to this effect, but the matter was left for final decision later on.

Uncle Aaron had not been in Oldtown at the time, for which the boys were profoundly thankful. They could easily do without him any time, but now, with the watch and papers still missing, they cared less than ever to see him.

Nothing had been heard of the stolen watch, nor had the papers turned up, and every day that passed made it less likely that they ever would.

"Those papers!" sighed Teddy. "And that watch! Oh, if I'd only nabbed that tramp when I saw him!"

"Cheer up, old scout," said Bill. "While there's life, there's hope."

"Yes," agreed Fred, "but there isn't much nourishment in hope."

The Rushton boys returned to Rally Hall, refreshed and rested, ready for hard work as well as for fun and frolic. The going of Andy Shanks had removed a disturbing element from the school, and the second term was much more pleasant than the first had been.

And now, they were right on the verge of spring. The ice had disappeared, the athletic field was drying out and getting into shape, and the thoughts of all were turning toward baseball practice.

Slim Haley was in the midst of one of his stories, when Fred, with a bat in his hand, burst into the dormitory one Saturday morning.

"Come along, fellows," he called out. "Come out and get some practice. What do you mean by staying indoors a morning like this?"

"Just a minute, Fred," answered Bill Garwood, for the rest. "Slim has got to get this story out of his system."

"As I was saying when this low-brow came in to interrupt me," said Slim, looking severely at Fred, "this cat was a very smart cat. And a plucky one too, by ginger. There was no rat so big that he was afraid to tackle it. And the way he went for snakes was a caution."

"Snakes!" exclaimed Lester Lee incredulously.

"That's what I said, 'snakes,'" said Slim firmly. "There used to be a lot of rattlesnakes in that neighborhood, and the cat would go out hunting for one every morning.

"When he found a rattler, he would creep up to him, and the snake, seeing him, would throw itself into a coil to strike. The cat would hold up a paw and the snake would strike at it. But the cat was too quick and would dodge the stroke. Then, before the snake could coil up again, the cat would have it by the neck. He used to drag them home and stretch them out in the dooryard, so as to show his folks how smart he was."

"Some cat!" murmured Melvin.

"Yes," assented Slim, "and he was a good-hearted cat too. Some folks say that a cat thinks only of himself, but do you know what that cat did?

"One day, the baby of the house had lost his rattle and was crying. The cat sat looking at him for a minute. Then he went out in the yard, bit the rattles off a dead snake and brought it in and laid it down near the baby. You see——"

But what Slim saw just at that moment was a pillow coming toward his head. He dodged with an agility born of long practice; and the laughing crowd went out with Fred into the bright April morning.

They scattered out on the diamond, on which Big Sluper and his assistants had been busy for some days past, and which was already in condition for a game. The turf was smooth and springy, the base paths had been rolled until they were perfectly level, and the foul lines stretched away toward left and right field.

"Won't we have some bully times here this spring?" exulted Fred.

"Bet your life we will!" assented Teddy, turning a handspring. "And I'm going to play shortstop and don't you forget it!"

"Don't be too sure of that," Fred cautioned him. "It'll be nip and tuck between you and Shorty Ward for the position. And Shorty's a pretty nifty player."

"I know he is," admitted Teddy. "But I'm going to make a fight for it."

"There's Ned Wayland and Professor Raymond over there now, sizing the fellows up," said Fred. "They're from Missouri and will have to be shown. Get out there and I'll knock you some hot grounders."

Ned Wayland was the captain of the team. He played pitcher and had made a splendid record in the box the year before. He had a good fast ball and a puzzling assortment of curves. Contrary to the usual run of pitchers, he was also a heavy batter, and could usually be relied on to "come across" when a hit was needed.

Most of last year's team had returned to the school, so that a fairly good nine was assured from the start. But there were also a lot of promising youngsters among the newcomers, who, in Professor Raymond's judgment, would "bear close watching."

He and Ned were standing a little to one side of the diamond, looking over the old material and the "new blood," as they cavorted like so many colts about the base lines. The boys knew that they were under inspection, and they played with snap and vim, each hoping that he would be chosen for some coveted position on the team.

"Pretty good stuff to choose from, don't you think, Professor?" remarked Ned.

"Unusually so, it seems to me," replied the other, as his keen eye followed a great pick-up and swift throw to first by Teddy. "Unless all signs fail, we ought to have a cracking good team this year."

"We need to have if we're going to beat out Mount Vernon," said Wayland. "I hear that they're going great guns in practice."

"We're all right in the outfield," mused the professor. "Duncan at right, Hawley in centre and Melton at left are all good fielders, and they're heavy hitters, too."

"We could make our infield stronger than it is, though. I don't think that——"

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Wayland. "Look at that!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

AN EXCITING BATTLE

The "that" was a brilliant bit of fielding "pulled off" by Teddy.

Fred had varied the grounders by sending up a high fly into short centre field. It was away over Teddy's head, and it seemed impossible for him to reach it. But he had started for it at the crack of the bat, and, running like a deer, he just managed to get under it with his ungloved hand. He clung to it desperately, however, and, although he rolled over and over, he rose with the ball in his hand. It was a neat bit of fielding and Teddy got a round of hand clapping from those who had seen it.

"Wasn't that a peach?" asked Wayland enthusiastically.

"It certainly was!" agreed the professor warmly. "I didn't think he had a chance to reach it."

"Of course, one swallow doesn't make a summer," conceded Wayland, "and perhaps he couldn't do it often."

"I don't think it was a fluke," said the professor. "I saw him make a swift pick-up a few minutes ago that nine out of ten would have missed. And he threw down to first almost on a line. The ball didn't rise more than three inches on the way down."

"If he can keep up that kind of work, he'll give Ward all he can do to hold his job," declared Ned.

"Baseball ability seems to run in the family," said the professor. "Fred is a first-rate pitcher, and, with him in the box besides yourself, I think we'll be well fortified in that position. Besides, he's a good hitter, and on days when he isn't pitching, you can put him in to bat at times when a hit is needed."

"Yes," agreed Ned, "he'll be a great big element in our success this season. That outcurve of his is awfully hard to hit, and his drop ball is a pippin."

"As for the backstop," went on the professor, "Tom Eldridge hasn't any rival. Granger, at first base, is a star both in fielding and hitting. But we're not any too strong at second. Hendricks doesn't seem to take so much interest in his work as he did last season."

"How would it do to put Morley there, on trial?" suggested Ned. "Then we could shift Ward to third and try out Teddy Rushton at short."

For several days the sifting process went on, but when the line up was finally settled upon, Teddy held down short, while Fred was to alternate with Ned as pitcher.

The nine practiced faithfully, playing with neighboring village teams and making a good record. They had won three games and lost only one, and that by a close score, when the day came for the Mount Vernon game.

This was to be held on the enemy's grounds, and the boys had a train ride of twenty miles before they reached the station. A crowd of the Rally Hall boys went with them, to root and cheer for a victory over their most important baseball rivals.

The Green Haven station was crowded that morning with hilarious youths, and there was a buzzing as of a swarm of bees, while they waited for their train to come.

The only fly in the ointment was the cloudy condition of the sky. No rain had fallen, but it looked as though it might come down at any moment.

"It's up to us to get a good start early in the game," remarked Fred, "so that if the rain does come down after the fifth inning and we're in the lead, we'll win anyway."

"Right you are," replied Ned. "Last year we lost a game that way just as we thought we had it tucked away in our bat bag. The other fellows were one run ahead, and when we came to bat in our half of the sixth we got three men on bases in less than no time. Our heaviest batters were just coming up, and one of them knocked a homer, clearing the bases and putting us three runs in the lead. The fellows were dancing round and hugging each other, when just then the rain came down like fury and the game had to be called. Of course, our runs didn't count and the score stood as it was at the end of the fifth, with the other fellows ahead. I tell you it was a tough game to lose."

"Well, I swan, It looks like ra-in, Gidde-ap, Napoleon, We'll get the hay in,"

drawled Tom, who had not only a store of good poetry always on tap but was also well provided with plenty that was not so good.

"Your poetry is rank, Tom," laughed Teddy, as he made a pass at him, "but the sentiment is all to the good. We'll get the hay in in the early part of the game."

Just then there was a whistle in the distance.

"Here she comes!" went up the cry and there was a general scurry toward the front of the platform. The train was a local, with only three cars, and it was a certainty that with the unusual crush that morning a lot of the passengers would have to stand.

The train drew up with a clang and a rattle, and there was a regular football rush the moment it came to a stop.

"Get aboard!" shouted one.

"If you can't get a board, get a plank," yelled another.

"Easy there," shouted the conductor, as the swirling mob almost swept him off his feet.

But he might as well have tried to check a cyclone. They swarmed around him, and in less than a minute the train was packed. There was a lot of jolly, good-natured scuffling to get the vacant seats.

"Wow! get off my toes!" yelled one of the unlucky ones.

"How can I help it?" laughed the one addressed. "I've got to stand somewhere, haven't I?"

The conductor wiped his perspiring brow.

"Well, of all the young limbs!" he ejaculated. But his frown quickly melted into a grin. He had boys of his own.

"They can only be kids once," he muttered, as he gave the engineer the signal to go ahead.

Inside the cars, all was cheerful hubbub and confusion.

"Give us a song, Billy!" shouted one.

The request was greeted by a roar of unanimous approval.

"What shall it be?" grinned Billy Burton, who seldom had to be coaxed.

There was a chorus of suggestions, for Billy's repertoire was very extensive. The majority seemed to favor: "We All Sit Round and Listen, When Hiram Drinks His Soup," although there was a strong minority for "When Father Carves the Duck." In order to satisfy them all, Billy sang both ditties to a thunder of applause.

He had to respond to numerous encores, and when at last he was too hoarse to sing any longer, the crowd fell back on "Ten Little Injuns" and "Forty-nine Bluebottles, a-Hanging on the Wall," together with other school favorites. There were any number of discords and any amount of flatting, but little things like that did not bother the young minstrels. They wanted noise and plenty of it. And no one in that train could deny that they got what they wanted.

"Now, Slim, it's up to you," said Ned Wayland. "It's a long time since we've had one of your truthful stories."

"A story from Slim," went up the chorus, as all that could crowded around.

But Slim assumed an air of profoundest gloom.

"Nothing doing," he said, shaking his head with a decision that the twinkle in his eyes belied. "You fellows wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Look at the last one I told you," he went on, with an aggrieved air, "about the fellows that used to catch crabs with their toes as they sat on the end of the dock. Didn't you fellows as much as call me a—er—fabricator? Even when I explained that they had hardened their toes by soaking them in alum, so that they wouldn't feel the bites? Even when I offered to show you one of the crabs that they caught?"

He wagged his head sadly, as one who was deeply pained by the appalling amount of unbelief to be met with in the world.

"Perhaps we did you a great injustice, Slim," said Fred with a mock air of penitence.

"I'm willing to apologize and never do it again," chimed in Melvin.

"And I'll go still further and agree to believe your next story before you tell it," promised Tom.

"Now that sounds more like it," said Slim, throwing off his gloom. "I'm always ready to add to the slight store of knowledge that you lowbrows have in stock, but you must admit that it's rather discouraging to see that cold, hard look in your eyes when I'm doing my best to give you the exact facts."

"We'll admit anything, Ananias," chirped up Billy; "only go ahead with the story."

Slim shot a scathing glance at Billy, but seeing that all were waiting breathlessly, he gave an impressive cough and started in.

"There was a farmer down our way," he began, "who was strictly up to date. He wasn't satisfied to go along like the majority of old mossbacks, year in and year out, doing the same old thing in the same old way as it had been done for a hundred years. He tried all the new wrinkles, subscribed to the leading farm papers, and studied the market reports.

"He was looking over these one night when he saw that there was an unusual demand for beef tongues and that they were bringing the biggest price in the market that they had brought for a good many years past. This set him thinking.

"You know how fond cattle are of salt. Well, this farmer set aside about a dozen of his cows, to try an experiment with them. He kept them without salt during the day so that they got crazy for it. Then at night he tied them up in stalls, and hung a lump of rock salt by a string just a little out of their reach. They'd stick out their tongues to get at it but couldn't quite make it. At last, by straining hard they'd maybe touch it. Of course, as they stretched, the effort gradually made their tongues grow bigger, and—"

Here, Slim looked around rather dubiously to see if his hearers were preparing to spring upon him, but they seemed as if held in the spell of an awful fascination. So he took courage and went on:

"You know how it is with a blacksmith. The more he exercises his arm the bigger the muscles get. You know that our dear Dr. Rally has often impressed on our youthful minds that the more we use our brains the more brains we'll have to use. Well, that's just the way it was with these cows. Each day the farmer would put the salt a little further ahead of them, and they'd keep stretching more and more, until finally their tongues were three times the ordinary size. I tell you that farmer cleared up a pile of money when he sent his cattle to market that fall, and—"

"I should think," interrupted Fred, in a voice that he tried to keep steady, "that their tongues would get in the way and choke them."

"You would think so," admitted Slim, easily, "but as I said, this farmer was up to date and he had figured that out. He got a lot of rubber tubes and taught the cows to curl their tongues around in those and keep them out of the way. He—"

But just then, the overtaxed patience of his auditors gave way and they rushed in a body on Slim.

"I told you it would be that way," he complained, as he extricated himself from the laughing mob. "It's casting pearls before swine to try to tell you fellows the truth. You wouldn't want the truth, if I handed it to you on a gold platter."

The rest of the passengers in the train, other than the Rally Hall boys, looked on and listened with varied emotions. One or two had a sour expression and muttered more or less about "those pesky boys," but by far the greater number were smiling and showed a frank pleasure in the picture of bubbling, joyous youth that they presented. It came as a welcome interlude in the cares of life.

Fred had found a seat alongside a rather elderly man whose face radiated good nature. When the train had gone ten miles or so, the stranger entered into conversation.

"A jolly crowd you have here," he said, beaming. "I take it you're going somewhere special. What's on for to-day?"

"We're going to play a game of ball with the Mount Vernon team, a little way up the line," Fred smiled in return.

"Baseball, eh?" said the other with an evident quickening of interest. "That's the king of sports with me. I used to play a lot in my time and I've never got over my liking for it. I'd rather see a game than eat."

"It's a dandy sport, all right," assented Fred, with enthusiasm. "There isn't anything in the world to equal it in my opinion, except perhaps football."

"I don't know much about football," admitted the other. "I see a game once in a while, but it always seems to me rather confusing. That's because I don't know the rules, I guess. But I know baseball from start to finish and from the time the umpire says 'Play ball!' until the last man's out in the ninth inning, I don't take my eyes off the diamond."

"I suppose you have some great memories of the old days," remarked Fred.

"You're just right," said the stranger with emphasis. "I guess I've seen almost all the great players who made the game at one time or another. There were the old Red Stockings of Cincinnati, the Mutuals of New York, the Haymakers of Troy, the Forest Cities of Rockford, that we boys used to read and talk about all the time. We had our special heroes, too, just as you have to-day.

"Of course," he went on, "the game has improved a great deal, like everything else. The pitching is better now. My, how those old timers used to bat the pitchers all over the lot! You don't see any scores of two hundred runs in a game these days."

"Two hundred runs!" exclaimed Fred. "You don't mean to say that any team ever made as many as that?"

"Not often, I'll admit," smiled the other. "Still, the Niagaras of Buffalo won a game once by 201 to 11."

"Whew!" ejaculated Tom, who had been sitting on the arm of the seat, listening to the talk. "There must have been some tired outfielders when that game was over."

"I'd have hated to be the scorer," laughed Fred.

"Of course that was unusual," said the other, "but big scores were a common thing. The first game between college teams was won by 66 to 32.

"There was a time," he continued, "when a man could make two or three home runs on a single hit. The diamonds were only vacant lots as a rule and the ball would get lost in the high grass. Then the runner, after reaching the plate, could start round the bases again and keep on running until the ball was found or until he was too tired out to run any longer. Of course that was in the very early days of the game. We used to put a man out then by throwing the ball at him and hitting him with it."

"I'd hate to have one of them catch me between the shoulders nowadays!" exclaimed Tom.

"The ball was soft then and didn't hurt much," explained the other. "Oh, the game is better now in every way. We didn't know anything about 'inside stuff' as you call it, 'the squeeze play,' 'the delayed steal' and all that."

"I'll bet you got just as much fun out of it though as we do now," said Fred.

"I suppose we did," assented the other. "You can trust boys to get fun out of anything. But in those days it was mainly sport. Now it's sport and skill combined."

The lads were to get off at the next station, and there was a general stir as they got their things together.

"I'm very glad I met you," said Fred, as he shook hands with his chance acquaintance. "I've learned a lot about the game that I didn't know before."

"It does me good to brush up against you young fellows," the man replied warmly, returning the handshake. "I hope you wax the other team this afternoon. I'll be rooting for you to win."

"We'll do our best," promised Fred. "Thanks for the good wishes. It would be jolly if you could stop off and see the game."

"I'd like nothing better, but business won't let me. Good-bye and good luck."

"Who's your friend that you were talking to so long?" asked Ned, as the crowd got off the train.

"I never saw him before," answered Fred. "But he's a good old scout, whoever he is. He sure is fond of baseball and he knows the game. I'd like to have him in the stands this afternoon. I'll bet he'd be a mascot for us."

The nine was in fine fettle, and felt that they would have no excuses to offer if they failed to win.

"But we're not going to lose!" exclaimed Granger. "I feel it in my bones!"

"It'll be the score and not your bones that'll tell the story," jibed Slim.

"Scots wha' hae with Wallace bled, Scots wha' Bruce has often led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory,"

chanted Tom Eldridge.

"And it's going to be victory," affirmed Teddy, "The other fellows will be the dead ones."

But the "other fellows" had views of their own on that subject, and from the time the first ball was pitched the Rally Hall boys knew that they had their work cut out for them.

Ned was in the box at the start, and Fred, who was ready to take his place if needed, played right field.

The pitchers on both sides were in good form, and for the first three innings neither side scored a run, although a two-base hit by Melvin and a daring steal had gotten him as far as third. Two were out at the time, however, and Ward made the third out on a high fly to left.

The pitcher on the Mount Vernon team was a big, sandy-haired, freckle-faced youth who did not look at all like a student, and the boys noticed that when his nine was at the bat, he sat apart from the others, almost as though he were a stranger. Slim Haley had a suspicion, and strolled over to have a chat with him, while he was resting.

"Mount Vernon is a pretty good school," said Slim, trying to start a conversation.

"Yep," said the other shortly.

"Nice bunch of fellows," continued Slim affably.

"Good enough, I s'pose," said the other.

"What studies are you taking?" asked Slim, his suspicions deepening.

The other hesitated a moment.

"Voconometry and trigoculture," he got out, with an effort.

"What?" asked the puzzled Slim.

But just then the inning ended, and the sandy-haired pitcher had to go to the box.

Slim made his way back to his own crowd.

"Did you fellows ever hear of voconometry and trigoculture?" he asked.

"What are you giving us?" jeered Tom, with a grin.

"Stop stringing us, Slim," added Ned.

"Honest, I'm not fooling," protested Slim, "I asked that pitcher what studies he was taking, and he said 'voconometry and trigoculture.'"

The boys pondered a moment.

"I've got it!" shouted Fred, a light breaking in on him. "That fellow's a 'ringer.' He isn't a Mount Vernon student at all. There's something the matter with their regular pitcher, and they've picked up this fellow somewhere and rung him in on us as a regular school player. They've been afraid we might tumble to it and ask him questions, and so they told him what to say."

"But why did they tell him to say any nonsense like that?" asked Slim, perplexed.

"They didn't," explained Fred. "He's got mixed up. What they told him to say if any one asked him was that he was studying trigonometry and vocal culture.' He got stuck and called it 'voconometry and trigoculture.'"

There was a roar of laughter, but this was quickly followed by indignation.

"It's a dirty trick to play on us," growled Billy Burton.

"Sure it is," agreed Tom. "But it's too late to protest now. Let's go in and lick them anyway."

In the fifth inning, a scorching liner struck Ned on his pitching arm. He picked it up and got his man at first. But the blow had bruised his muscles badly, and he became wild. He could not control the sphere, and gave two bases on balls. These, with an error and a hit sandwiched in, yielded two runs before the side was out.

"You'll have to take my place, Fred," he said as they came in for their turn at bat. "My arm is numb and I can't get them over."

So Fred took up the pitching burden with a handicap of two runs against him to start with.

"All over but the shouting," yelled the Mount Vernon rooters.

But they changed their tune as Fred shot his curves and benders over the plate. He pitched his prettiest, and only once was in danger. Then, with a man on first and one out, a rattling double play started by Teddy pulled him out of the hole.

But the other fellow, too, was pitching magnificently.



CHAPTER XXIX

ANDY SHANKS "GETS HIS"

The Mount Vernon partisans were in an ecstasy of delight at the lead their favorites were holding and from present indications seemed likely to hold to the end. They yelled their loudest at every good play made by the home team, and did all they could to keep them up to fighting pitch.

The Rally Hall followers, although of course outnumbered, kept up their end and shouted until they were hoarse. Among these none were more vociferous than Lester Lee and Bill Garwood. They had not "made" the team, although they liked and understood the game. But they were "dyed-in-the-wool" rooters for their team, and especially for the Rushton boys upon whose shoulders rested so much of responsibility for the fate of the game.

As luck would have it, they were surrounded on every side by the Mount Vernon boys, many of whom were accompanied by pretty girls who had come to see the downfall of the invaders. Some of them knew very little of the game, but that did not dampen their enthusiasm, and they clapped their hands and waved their flags whenever that seemed the right thing to do.

One of them was seated right alongside of Lester, and he and Bill could not help hearing her conversation.

Her escort, in an interval between innings, was trying to tell her of a game he had recently seen.

"This fellow was a fast runner," he remarked, "and he stole second base while the pitcher wasn't looking."

"Stole it!" she exclaimed. "Why, I thought the bases were fastened down."

"They are," the young man laughed, "but he stole it just the same."

"I think that's just disgraceful," she said indignantly. "Did they arrest him?"

Her escort explained what he meant, and she looked relieved.

"A minute later, he tried it again," he went on, "but this time the ball was too quick for him, and the runner died at third."

"Oh, how dreadful! I suppose he had been running so hard that his heart gave out."

Bill nudged Lester, whose face was purple with his efforts to restrain himself.

Again her escort patiently explained that the incident at third had been in no sense a tragedy.

"That made two out," he went on, "but the next man at the bat lammed the horsehide—No," he interrupted himself hurriedly, as he saw another question trembling on her lips, "the horse wasn't in the hide. I mean, he hit the ball and made a home run. That rattled the pitcher and he went up in the air."

"Let's get out," whispered Bill to Lester. "I can see that she'll ask him whether it was a baseball game or an aviation meet."

"It's his own fault," replied Lester, as he followed his companion to another part of the stand where they could give free vent to their mirth. "You can't blame her for not understanding baseball slang. I'll bet after this that he'll stick to plain English."

"Look at those clouds coming up!" exclaimed Bill suddenly. "I'm afraid rain's coming before the game is over."

"And our fellows behind," groaned Lester.

"We ought to have 'got the hay in' before this," said Bill, as Tom's doggerel of the morning came back to him.

The Mount Vernon team was quick to see its advantage and began to play for time.

They were ahead, and as more than five innings had been played, it would be called a complete game and credited to them, if they could keep their opponents from scoring before the rain came down.

With this end in view, they began a series of movements designed to delay the game. The Rally Hall boys were at the bat and it was the beginning of the seventh inning. They were desperate in their desire to tie or go ahead of the enemy. Those two runs loomed bigger and bigger, as the game drew near its end.

"We've got to get a move on, fellows," admonished Fred, as his side came to bat.

"And in an awful hurry, too," agreed Melvin.

"The time's short even if the rain doesn't come," declared Ned. "But from the look of those clouds, we won't play a full game. Make this the 'lucky seventh' and crack out a couple of runs."

"How are we going to get anything, if that pitcher doesn't put it over?" asked Tom, as he stood at the plate, bat in hand. "Hi, there," he called to the boxman. "Put the ball over the plate and I'll kill it."

"Take your time," drawled the pitcher, as he bent over, pretending to tie his shoe lace. "I'll strike you out soon enough."

That shoe lace seemed very hard to tie, judging from the time he spent in doing it. At last, when he could not keep up the pretence any longer, he straightened up and took his position in the box. Then, something about the ball seemed to attract his attention. He looked at it earnestly and signaled to the captain who walked in slowly from centre field. He in turn beckoned to the first baseman, and the three joined in conversation at the pitcher's box.

By this time, the crowd had caught the idea, and a storm of protest broke out from the stands.

"Play ball!"

"Cut out the baby act!"

"Can't you win without the rain?"

"What a crowd of quitters!"

"Be sports and play the game!"

"They're showing a yellow streak!"

"The white feather, you mean!"

Most of the protests came from the Rally Hall followers, but a good many also of the home team's supporters were disgusted at these unsportsmanlike tactics.

Teddy rushed up to the umpire, his eyes blazing.

"Are you going to stand for this?" he asked. "What kind of a deal are we getting in this town, anyway?"

The umpire, who had tried to be strictly impartial, raised his hand soothingly.

"Go easy, son," he replied. "I was only waiting to make sure. I'll see that you get fair play.

"Cut out that waiting stuff," he called to the pitcher, "and play ball."

The pitcher took his position in the box, but the captain strolled toward centre field at a snail's pace.

"Hurry up there now," ordered the umpire. "I'll give you till I count ten to get out in the field. If you're not there by that time, I'll put you out of the game."

"I'm going, am I not?" retorted the captain, still creeping along.

"One," said the umpire. "Two. Three."

The captain's pace quickened.

"Four. Five. Six."

The captain broke into a trot.

"Seven. Eight. Nine."

But by this time the captain had reached his position. It was evident that the umpire meant what he said.

"Now, put them over," he ordered the pitcher, "and I'll send you to the bench, if I see any signs of holding back. Play ball."

There was no further delay, and the pitcher shot the ball over the plate. Tom, true to his promise, "killed" the ball, sending a scorching liner between second and third that netted him two bases. Fred sacrificed him to third by laying a beautiful bunt down on the first base line. Morley hit the ball a resounding crack, but it went straight to the second baseman, who made a great stop and nipped Tom as he came rushing in to the plate. A long fly to centre field ended the inning, and gloom settled down on the boys from Rally Hall.

"Seven goose eggs in a row," groaned Billy Burton.

"Never mind," said Fred cheerily, as he picked up his glove. "We're getting on to his curves now. Did you see how we belted him in that inning? No pop-up flies, but good solid welts. The breaks in the luck were against us but they won't be always."

As though to back up his words of cheer, the sun at that instant broke through the clouds and the field was flooded with light.

"Hurrah!" yelled Teddy, throwing up his hat. "It isn't going to rain after all."

"Those were only wind clouds," exulted Melvin.

"It is the sun of Austerlitz," quoted Tom.

"It's a good omen anyway," declared Ned. "Buckle down to your work now, boys, and play like tigers."

And they did. Fred promptly struck the first man out on three pitched balls. The second popped up a high foul, which Tom gathered in after a long run. The third man up dribbled a slow one to the box and Fred quickly snapped the ball over to first for an out.

"Short and sweet, that inning," commented Slim Haley.

"Now it's our turn again," said Teddy. "Here's where we win."

"Up guards and at them," encouraged Tom.

But, try as they would, their bad luck persisted. Their slugging was hard and fierce, but the ball went straight into a fielder's hands, and again they went out on the diamond without a score to their credit.

In the enemy's eighth turn at bat, it looked as if they might get one or more runs over the plate. A lucky bound allowed one man to get to first, and he went to second when Morley dropped a high fly after a long run. There were men on first and second with none out, and their chance for a score was bright.

The next man up sent a whistling liner right over second. Teddy, who was playing close to the bag, jumped in the air and pulled down the ball. That, of course, put out the batter. As Teddy came down with the ball in his hand, he stepped on the base, thus putting out the man who had made a bee line for third, thinking the ball would go safe, and was now trying desperately to get back. That made two out. The fellow who had been on first had almost reached second, but turned and sprinted back with Teddy in hot pursuit. He clapped the ball on him just in time, and the side was out. Teddy had made a triple play unassisted.

It was a sparkling and most unusual feat, and the whole stand rose to Teddy as he came in, and cheered and cheered until he was forced to pull off his cap. The Mount Vernon rooters forgot their partisanship and shouted as loudly as the rest. As for his schoolmates, they mauled and hugged him until he fled for refuge to the bench.

"Some fireworks!" yelled one.

"I can die happy, now!" exclaimed another. "I've seen a triple play pulled off."

"You'll never see another," prophesied his neighbor.

The Rally Hall boys were yelling their loudest to encourage their favorites when they came to bat for the last time.

A groan went up when Duncan lifted a high fly to centre field, which was caught easily. But Melvin sent a sizzling liner to left, just inside third, and made two bases on it. And the yells were deafening, when Ward advanced him to third, by a fierce grounder to short, that was too hot to hold.

"Rushton! Rushton!" they shouted, as Fred came to bat after Tom had gone out on a foul. "Hit it on the trademark!" "Give it a ride!" "Win your own game!"

The first ball was a deceptive drop, but Fred did not "bite." The second was a low fast one, about knee high, just the kind he was accustomed to "kill."

With a mighty swing he caught it fair "on the seam." It rose like a shot and soared into centre field, far over the fielder's head.

Melvin and Ward came in, tying the score, and Fred, who had gone around the bases like a deer, made it a home run by just beating the ball on a headlong slide to the plate.

Rally Hall promptly went raving mad.

There was still one more chance for the Mount Vernon lads, and their best hitters were coming on. But Fred was on his mettle now, and put every ounce of his strength and cunning into his pitching. They simply could not hit his slants. The first went out on strikes, Ward made a dazzling catch of a hot liner, and, when Melvin, after a long run, caught a high foul close to the left field bleachers, the game was over, with the score three to two in favor of Rally Hall.

It was a hilarious crowd that met the team at Green Haven when the train pulled in. The whole nine had played well, and all came in for their share of the ovation, though the Rushton brothers were regarded as having carried off the honors of the game.

"Do you know what pleased me most of all?" asked Fred of Melvin.

"That home run you made, I suppose," answered the other.

"No," was the answer. "It was that we downed the 'ringer.' They couldn't get away with their low-down trick. We put one over on 'voconometry and trigoculture.'"

But Fred had a chance to "put one over" a few days later that pleased him still more.

A group of the boys had been down to the post office and were walking slowly on the road back to Rally Hall. It was a beautiful afternoon, and they took their time, in no hurry to get home.

Suddenly there was a loud "honk," "honk" behind them, and, looking back, they saw an automobile coming swiftly toward them.

They scattered to let it pass, but, as it came up it slackened speed and began zigzagging from one side of the road to the other, making the boys jump to keep out of the way.

"Can't you look out where you're going?" asked Slim angrily. "What kind of a driver are you, anyway?"

"By Jove, fellows!" exclaimed Bill Garwood, as he looked more closely at the face behind the goggles, "it's Andy Shanks!"

It was indeed that disgraced youth, who was making a trip through that part of the state, and whom some impulse had prompted to go by way of Green Haven.

"Sure it is," he answered sourly. "Get out of the way, you boobs. Jump, you skate," he said to Fred, as he darted the machine at him.

Fred leaped nimbly out of the way, and Andy, with a derisive jeer, sped on, looking behind him and laughing insolently.

Fred was white with indignation.

"The coward!" he exclaimed. "If I could get on that running board, I'd drag him from his seat!"

"He sure ought to have a licking," agreed Bill. "But we'd have to be some good little sprinters to catch him now."

"Look, fellows!" cried Billy Burton excitedly, "he's stopped. There must be something the matter with his engine."

They all started to run.

Andy had dismounted quickly and was working desperately to get his stalled engine going.

He got it sparking at last, but before he could jump into the seat the boys were on him.

"No, you don't!" cried Fred, getting between him and the machine. "I've got an account to settle with you."

"Get out of my way," snarled Andy, trying to push past.

Fred's answer was a blow that caught the bully under the chin and sent his teeth together with a snap.

"I'll fix you for that," Andy roared.

"Come along," was Fred's challenge, slipping off his coat, "but first take off your goggles. I'm going to lick you good and plenty, but I don't want to blind you."

Then followed a fight that Slim afterward described to a delighted group at the dormitory as a "peach of a scrap."

Even a rat will fight if it is cornered, and Andy, having no way out, did his best. All the hate and venom he felt for Fred came to the surface, and he fought ferociously.

But he was no match, despite his size and strength, for the boy he had wronged. Fred was in splendid shape, thanks to his athletic training, and, besides, he was as quick as a cat. He easily evaded the bull-like rushes of Andy, and got in one clean-cut blow after another that shook the bully from head to foot. The thought of all he had suffered through Shank's trickery gave an additional sting to the blows he showered on him, and it was not long before Andy lay on the ground, sullen and vanquished.

"Have you had enough?" asked Fred.

"Enough," mumbled Andy, through his bruised lips.

They left him there, humbled but furious, and went on their way to the Hall.

"Fred, you went round him like a cooper round a barrel!" said Bill Garwood admiringly.

"He had it coming to him," answered Fred. "If ever a fellow needed it, he did."

He stepped aside to avoid a car coming toward him in which two rough-looking men were seated.

"Look, Fred!" cried Teddy, clutching his brother's arm as the car went by.

"What? Where?" asked Fred wonderingly.

"The auto!" gasped Teddy. "The man with a scar! The fellows that stole Uncle Aaron's watch!"



CHAPTER XXX

THE CAPTURE—CONCLUSION

"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Fred, as excited as Teddy.

"I'm sure of it! And now we're going to miss them again," groaned his brother.

At that moment a boy on a motorcycle came round a curve in the road.

"It's Lester Lee on his motorbike!" cried Fred, as an idea came to him. "Quick!" he yelled, waving his hand to Lester.

The latter put on speed and was soon beside them.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as he jumped from the saddle.

"Lend us your machine, Lester, like a good fellow," cried Fred. "I'll tell you all about it later. Quick, Teddy, jump on with me!"

In a second the Rushton boys were off, while the boys without the slightest idea of what was happening, looked after them with wonder in their eyes.

Fred had often ridden on Lester's motorcycle and knew how to handle it as well as the owner himself. He let out all speed and soon was traveling like the wind, with Teddy hanging on for dear life.

The automobile had a good start, and it was several minutes before they came in sight of it. Then they slackened their pace, keeping a couple of hundred yards in the rear.

"How on earth did those fellows ever get an auto?" asked Teddy wonderingly.

"Stole it, probably," answered Fred. "But that isn't what is bothering me. What I want to know is, how we're going to get them nabbed. We don't know where they're going to stop, and when they do land somewhere they'll probably have others of their gang around."

It was a perplexing problem, and they taxed their brains to think of an answer. But at present, the chief thing was to keep them in sight, and, as the men had no idea that they were being followed, this was easy enough.

Everything went well until, just after they turned a bend in the road, they ran into a bed of sand. Up to now the road had been hard and smooth, and they had been going at top speed. Fred saw the sandy stretch and tried to put on the brakes, but the distance was too short.

The sudden check in speed as the motorcycle ploughed into the sand sent both boys flying over the handle bars, while the machine staggered and at last fell down beside the trunk of a tree.

For a moment they lay still, the breath fairly knocked out of them by the shock. Then they slowly scrambled to their feet, a little shakily, and looked at each other in disgust.

"Did you ever see such luck as that?" asked Teddy. "Now our goose is cooked. We'll lose sight of them and that will be the end of it."

"Not by a jugful, it won't," declared Fred, stoutly. "Jump up, and we'll catch up to them in a jiffy."

He righted the machine, and after leading it through the streak of sandy road, they mounted and started off. But they had not gone twenty rods before they began to slow up, and Fred discovered to his dismay that they were riding on a flat tire.

"We must have had a puncture when the machine fell down," he said as they jumped off. "It bumped up against the tree, and some projection jammed into the tire. Here it is now," as he disclosed a tiny opening.

They opened Lester's tool box and set themselves vigorously to work to repair the puncture. They worked feverishly, and in a minute or two got out the inner tube and prepared to patch the damaged spot.