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CHAPTER XXVI
THE SCAR AND THE LIMP

The chums came up shuddering, with hair plastered over their faces and the water streaming from their shoulders.

“Ugh,” sputtered Fred, “the water’s as cold as ice!”

“A polar bear would like it,” chattered Skeets.

“Turn on the hot water faucet, Jeems,” laughed Bobby.

“We’ll be all right in a minute or two,” remarked Sparrow.

They swam around, racing and diving like so many young porpoises, and in a little while the blood returned to their chilled surfaces, making them perfectly comfortable again.

“Reminds you something of Plunkit’s Creek, doesn’t it, Fred?” said Bobby.

“Yes,” agreed Fred, “only this is a good deal longer and wider than that.”

“Then, too, we haven’t got Ap here, watching us from the bank and getting ready to set his dog on us,” grinned Mouser.

“We don’t owe Ap anything,” laughed Bobby. “We paid him all up that day we made him walk the plank.”

“Do you remember how he looked when he struck the water?” chuckled Pee Wee.

“I wonder if he and Pat have met each other since we came away,” said Bobby, as he recalled the scene at the railway station on the morning they left Clinton.

“Ap had better keep his whip handy,” observed Fred.

“That wouldn’t help him much,” returned Bobby. “Pat would take it away from him and wade into him.”

They had been in and out of the water for perhaps an hour, when Bobby, who had swum down to where the shore curved a little, suddenly turned and swam back again as fast as he could.

“Come along with me, fellows,” he cried, “and don’t make any more noise than you can help.”

The others followed him wonderingly until they reached the bend. Then, while they hid behind some grasses, Bobby pointed to two men who were lounging under a tree a short distance away.

They were smoking stubby pipes as they lay at their ease. Their faces were rough and unshaven and their clothing dirty and ragged.

“Don’t see much to get excited about,” remarked Shiner disappointedly. “Just a couple of tramps.”

“They’re more than that to us,” replied Bobby. “They’re the very tramps who robbed us in that old hut.”

The boys were on edge in an instant. Just then one of the men rose, stretched himself lazily and took a few steps toward the tree. As he did so, the boys saw that he had a perceptible limp.

“And the other one has a scar on his face,” whispered Bobby excitedly. “You can see it if you look close.”

They looked more closely, and Fred in his eagerness rose a little too high. His red head caught the eye of the man with the scar, and he uttered a startled exclamation.

“Now you’ve, done it,” whispered Mouser disgustedly. “Why didn’t you keep that red mop of yours out of sight?”

“Hurry, fellows,” urged Bobby. “We’ve got to catch those fellows before they can get away. Whip on your clothes and let’s get back after them.”

The boys swam back as fast as possible and rushed up on the bank.

“Who put a knot in the leg of my pants?” came in a howl from Fred as he struggled desperately to unfasten the knot.

“I’d like to catch the fellow who tied my socks together,” growled Mouser.

“And here’s one of my shoes floating in the water,” wailed Skeets.

They had to pay the penalty now of the tricks they had played on one another, and they felt as though they were in a nightmare as they tried frantically to get into their clothes.

“They’ll get away sure,” groaned Bobby. “Hustle, fellows, hustle! Come along just as you are if you can’t do any better.”

He led the way, and the rest came stumbling after him in all conditions of dress and undress. Mouser had stuffed his stockings in his pocket, Skeets carried his wet shoes in his hands, while Fred, with one leg in his trousers, held up the rest of the garment in his hand and made what speed he could.

But when they reached the tree under which the tramps had been sitting, they found no one. The birds had flown. They may possibly have recognized Fred’s red head as that of one of their victims, or they may have thought that he was one of a company, including men, who might ask them curious and troublesome questions. At any rate they had quickly gotten out of sight.

The boys searched about everywhere in that part of the woods, but fruitlessly. Pee Wee fell into a small excavation, this time barking his shins in reality. But he had no other injury except to his feelings, and his comrades hauled him out without much trouble.

“Well,” said Fred at last, “there doesn’t seem any more reason for hurry, and I guess I’ll get my pants on.”

“And I’ll put on my shoes,” said Skeets, suiting the action to the word. “This stubble has hurt my feet something fierce.”

Mouser’s socks also took their rightful place, and the boys began to feel more like human beings.

“What would you have done anyway, Bobby, if you’d found them under the tree?” asked Mouser.

“I don’t know exactly,” answered Bobby frankly. “Of course, we couldn’t tackle grown men. But we could have kept them in sight until we met some farmers and had them nabbed. Or one of us could have gone back to Rockledge and got the constable. But we know that they’re hanging round in this neighborhood now, and we’ll tell the constable about it and he’ll telephone to all the towns near by to be on the lookout for them.”

“I sure would like to get back my ring,” said Fred longingly.

“Those sleeve buttons would look mighty good to me,” chimed in Pee Wee.

“I could use my scarf pin too,” added Mouser.

“I don’t much expect to see my watch again,” said Bobby, “but there’s a chance of finding where they pawned ’em if we can get those fellows arrested.”

“There were only two of ’em,” mused Fred. “I wonder where the other one was.”

“Round at some farmhouse begging for grub maybe,” suggested Skeets.

“Or in jail perhaps,” guessed Sparrow. “If he isn’t, he ought to be.”

“He’ll get there sooner or later,” said Fred, “and so will the rest of the bunch.”

The boys hurried back to town and put the matter in the hands of the constable, who promised that he would do all in his power to catch the thieves. But the days passed into weeks with the tramps still at liberty, and the chances of the boys ever getting back the stolen articles became more and more unlikely.

But this did not hold such a place in their thoughts as the race for the championship of the Monatook Lake League, which kept getting hotter and hotter as the various teams tried their strength against each other.

It was a case of nip and tuck. First one team and then the other would forge to the front. By the time the first five games had been played not a single team could be said to be out of it.

But what grieved the Rockledge boys was that their bitter rival, Belden, although it started the season with a defeat at the hands of Ridgefield, had made a strong rally and was now in front with a total of four victories and one lost game. Somerset and Ridgefield were tied for second place, while Rockledge – Rockledge, which had so proudly counted on the pennant – was last!

CHAPTER XXVII
A GLEAM OF LIGHT

There was no trouble at all in finding out the reason why Rockledge was the tail-ender. The batting and fielding of the team was all that could be asked for. Both in offense and defense they had the edge on their rivals. The weakness lay in the pitcher’s box.

It was not that Hicksley did not work hard. He had a double reason now for pitching at the top of his speed, for he not only wanted to win the glory to himself, but he wanted to show that the absence of Bobby did not weaken the team.

But the trouble with him was that, as a rule, he could not last for the full nine innings. He would go along like a house afire for the first half of the game. Then about the fifth or sixth inning, he would begin to falter, and in some one of the remaining innings would “go up with a bang.”

At such times there was no one to come to the rescue, as in the first game that Bobby had pulled out of the fire. Spentz, the right fielder, who knew a little about twirling, had replaced him once but had not been able to undo the damage. In the game with Ridgefield, Hicksley had managed to last long enough to win by one run, and in the second game with Somerset had pitched fairly well, though he lost. But Ridgefield had come back with an easy victory, and Belden had fairly smothered him under a shower of hits to every part of the field. So that the outlook was very blue for Rockledge, and the boys fairly squirmed under the crowing of the Belden fellows whenever they met them on the trolley or in the town.

“If we only had Bobby in the box, we’d be going along at the head of the procession,” groaned Fred.

“That yellow streak of Hicksley’s comes out in almost every game,” growled Sparrow.

“He can’t stand the gaff when it comes to a pinch,” assented Skeets gloomily.

“A fellow who would lie as he did about Bobby doesn’t deserve to have any luck,” grunted Pee Wee.

“He’s a hoodoo,” agreed Shiner. “But what are we going to do?” he asked despairingly. “We haven’t anybody else to take his place, now that Bobby is out of it.”

Things were at this stage, when Bobby and Fred, who had been on a trip to town, were caught on their return in a terrific thunder storm. They were lucky enough to find refuge in a culvert under the railroad, and there they waited till the storm had spent its fury.

It was one of the worst storms they ever remembered, and peal after peal of thunder shook the earth, while streaks of jagged lightning shot across the sky.

“Scubbity-yow!” exclaimed Fred, after one particularly violent clap of thunder, followed by a blinding flash. “I’ll bet that hit around here somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t like to be near anything it hit,” replied Bobby.

The rain came down in torrents for some time longer, but at last the storm abated, rifts of blue sky appeared in the clouds, and the boys started off toward the school.

They were taking a short cut through the woods, when they were startled at seeing a great tree, that had been split from top to base, lying across the path.

“Jiminy Christmas!” exclaimed Bobby. “This is what the lightning hit that time.”

“It made a clean job of it,” cried Fred. “But listen,” he added, as muffled sounds came from the great tangle of branches. “What’s making that noise?”

“It’s somebody in there!” ejaculated Bobby, as he peered through the green welter of boughs and branches. “Quick, Fred, let’s get in there.”

With much difficulty, they forced their way through the tangle of foliage, until they were able to see two dim figures crouching in the center of the mass. Their surprise was great and became still greater, when they recognized them as two of the smaller of the Rockledge boys, Charlie White and Jimmy Thacker.

They were confused by their fright, and were whimpering. They gave only broken and stammering replies to the questions of their rescuers, who had a good deal of work in getting them out from the boughs that held them down.

They were finally pulled out to the open air. They were more frightened than hurt, although they had a number of scratches and bruises where the branches had swept against them in their fall.

“How did you boys manage to be caught in there?” queried Bobby and Fred in one breath.

“We were standing under a tree while it was raining,” answered Charlie, who was not quite as upset as his companion, “when this other tree was hit and fell over. We tried to run, but the branches caught us before we could get away.”

“I thought sure we were going to get killed!” whimpered Jimmy.

“Don’t you fellows know that you ought never to stand under a tree in a thunderstorm?” demanded Fred.

“We know it now,” returned Charlie; “and you can be sure we’ll never do it again.”

“Are you much hurt?” asked Bobby anxiously.

“I guess not,” answered Charlie, “but we’ve got lots of scratches.”

“Let’s see if you can walk all right,” ordered Bobby.

They made the attempt, and although they were wobbly and uncertain on their legs, all were relieved to find that no bones had been broken.

“You’ll be all right as soon as you get over your scare,” pronounced Fred.

“It was mighty lucky for us that you two boys came along,” said Jimmy gratefully.

“Yes,” added Charlie. “We were held down by those heavy branches, and I don’t see how we would have got out by ourselves.”

“After this, Charlie,” said Jimmy, looking at his companion, “we ought to tell Bobby all we know about the fellow who threw that egg into the electric fan.”

Their hearers started as though they had been shot.

“Who was it?” cried Fred excitedly.

“Out with it!” commanded Bobby.

CHAPTER XXVIII
TOM HICKSLEY GETS A THRASHING

The boys looked for a moment as though they almost regretted having let the cat out of the bag.

“Come along, now,” urged Bobby eagerly.

“Let’s have the whole story,” cried Fred.

“It – it was Tom Hicksley,” Jimmy stammered.

“I knew it,” cried Fred jubilantly.

“Do you know that, or are you only guessing?” asked Bobby, wild with anxiety.

“We saw him do it,” returned Charlie, who saw now that the only thing left was to tell the whole story.

“We were going along the hall to Mr. Carrier’s classroom that afternoon,” put in Jimmy, “and the door into your room was open because the day was so warm. We peeped in as we went by, and we saw Hicksley take the egg out of his pocket and throw it into the electric fan.”

“And why didn’t you tell about it before?” asked Fred.

“’Cause we were afraid that Hicksley would lick us if we did,” confessed Jimmy.

“He’s so much bigger than we are, and he jumped on us once for nothing at all,” added Charlie in self-defense.

“That’s all right,” said Bobby, who was perfectly willing to excuse them, now that he saw he was going to be cleared. “We all know that he’s a big bully and always picking on the little fellows.”

“You come right along with me,” said Fred, in a masterful way. “You keep out of this, Bobby. I’ll have this thing fixed up in a jiffy.”

Bobby was perfectly satisfied to leave the settlement of the matter in the hands of his loyal friend, and he went on to the dormitory, while Fred headed the little procession that a few minutes after marched into the office of Mr. Leith.

What went on there was shown the following morning after Mr. Leith had called his class to order.

“Blake,” he said, clearing his throat, “come up here.”

Bobby went up and stood in front of the desk.

“Blake,” went on Mr. Leith, “I did a great injustice to you a few weeks ago, and I want to apologize to you before the whole class. I have found out the real culprit. I know the name of the boy who threw the egg into the electric fan.”

There was a buzz of wild excitement in the class, and Hicksley, together with his two cronies, flushed red and grew pale in turn.

“That will do, Blake,” Mr. Leith went on. “You may go to your seat.”

Bobby retired, murmuring something, he did not know what.

“Hicksley, come here,” commanded the teacher. “And you, Bronson, and Jinks, come along.”

The three of them, with shuffling steps and hang-dog looks, walked slowly up the aisle.

“Hicksley,” said Mr. Leith severely, “you said at the time this thing happened that you actually saw Blake throw the egg. I do not want to condemn you without your being heard, and I am going to give you this chance to tell the truth. Are you willing to stand by your statement, or do you wish to take it back?”

Hicksley hesitated for a moment and then decided to bluff it out.

“I did see him,” he muttered doggedly.

“Martin,” directed Mr. Leith. “Step to the door and tell White and Thacker to come in.”

Fred did as ordered and returned, bringing the two small boys with him.

“Tell me now, boys, what you told me yesterday,” the teacher commanded.

They looked fearfully at Hicksley and his companions, who shot threatening glances at them. But they went ahead and related what they had seen on the afternoon in question. The simple story bore the mark of truth on its face and carried conviction.

Mr. Leith dismissed them and turned to the three in front of him.

“What have you to say to this?” he demanded.

They kept silent, with their heads lowered, and after a moment the teacher continued:

“I am not going to say anything more just now to add to the shame you must be feeling. You are all to report to Doctor Raymond in his study at three o’clock this afternoon. That is all for the present.”

They stumbled back to their seats, avoiding the contemptuous looks of their schoolmates. And that afternoon at the hour named they had the interview they dreaded with the head of the school.

That interview was short, but quite long enough to make their faces blanch and their hearts quake. If Hicksley had been guilty simply of denying the act as having been done by him, that would have been bad enough, but the punishment would have been lighter. But to try deliberately to put it on another was unforgivable. Hicksley was dismissed from the school and Bronson and Jinks were suspended for the remainder of the term.

Hicksley, boiling with rage, went to his room to pack. On his way down to summon the expressman, he met Bobby coming alone up the stairs.

Hicksley saw his opportunity and plunged heavily into Bobby, sending him stumbling backwards down the stairs almost to the lower landing. Had it not been for a wild clutch at the banister, Bobby would have fallen flat on his back.

All his fighting blood awoke at this unprovoked assault. It was the last straw. He had been under great restraint for the past few weeks while the injustice done him had rankled sorely. He clenched his fists, and as the bully reached the landing he received a blow that drove his head back and chased the malicious grin from his face.

In a moment the two boys were fighting, hammer and tongs. Hicksley was the larger but Bobby was strong and as quick as a young wildcat. Besides, he had no “yellow streak” in him.

CHAPTER XXIX
A WILD CHASE

Not five minutes had elapsed before Hicksley was lying on the floor of the hall, holding his hand to his eyes and nose.

“Get up!” Bobby commanded.

Hicksley did nothing but grunt.

“Have you had enough?” asked Bobby.

“Enough,” mumbled the bully, all the fight taken out of him.

He slunk away, while the boys, who had crowded out into the hall at the sound of combat and had viewed with rapture the defeat of the bully, gathered about Bobby, who, except for a bruise on his forehead, showed no sign of the battle.

“Bully for you, Bobby!” crowed Mouser.

“Scubbity-yow!” howled Fred in delight. “That was a peach of a scrap.”

“He got all that was coming to him,” exulted Sparrow.

“Hicksley couldn’t lick a postage stamp!” exclaimed Skeets gleefully.

“He must have learned to fight by mail,” grinned Shiner.

“A mighty good job you made of it, Bobby,” commended Billy Bassett.

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” explained Bobby, “but when he butted into me and knocked me down the stairs, I couldn’t help pitching into him.”

For the rest of that day and evening little else was thought of or spoken of but the “trimming” that Bobby had given to the bully. But apart from the satisfaction of having Hicksley get what he so richly deserved, a still greater joy was in the hearts of all.

Bobby Blake was back again on the team!

“Now,” cried Fred, expressing the hope and belief of all, “you’ll see Rockledge begin to climb.”

And Rockledge did climb with a vengeance.

The very next Saturday with Bobby in the box and pitching gilt-edged ball they walked all over Belden, not only beating their chief rival but doing it to the score of seven to nothing. The whole team played behind their pitcher as though they were inspired with new life. And from that time on, the Beldenites drew into their shell and did not do so much crowing when they met the Rockledge boys in the town.

But Bobby and his comrades knew that they still had a heavy task before them, if they were to win the pennant of the Monatook Lake League.

Belden had now won four games and lost two. Rockledge was even in gains and losses, having won three and lost three. If there had been many more games to play, Rockledge would have felt much more confident, for she was now traveling faster than her rival. But the end of the season was coming fearfully close, and there were only three more games to play.

“Belden is the one we’ve got to beat,” declared Frank. “We’ve got the Indian sign, I think, on Somerset and Ridgefield.”

As far as Ridgefield was concerned, this seemed true, for Rockledge won the game by four to two, his mates handing Bobby a lead in the first inning that he was able to keep throughout the game. But as Belden also won on the same day from Somerset, though after a harder battle, the Rockledge boys were still “trailing” the school across the lake.

The excitement now was reaching fever pitch, and it broke all bounds the following Saturday, when Belden came a cropper with Ridgefield, being “nosed out” in the ninth by a sudden rally on the part of their opponents, while Rockledge won handily from Somerset in a free batting game by ten runs to six.

“Hurrah!” yelled Mouser, “we’re tied with Belden now.”

“Bobby has pulled us up in dandy shape,” declared Frank. “You’re a wonder, Bobby, old scout.”

“Just keep it up for one more game, Bobby,” pleaded Sparrow.

“Scubbity-yow!” shouted Fred. “I’ll bet old Belden is shaking in its boots.”

Somerset and Ridgefield had played good ball in spots, but now they were out of the race. Belden and Rockledge had each won five and lost three, and the game that was to be played between them on the following Saturday would wind up the season and decide which of the teams was to win the pennant of the Monatook Lake League.

It was almost impossible for the boys to keep their minds on their lessons, but as there were only ten days remaining in the school term this did not matter to the same degree as it would have done earlier in the year.

But an incident occurred on the Monday following the game with Somerset that gave a new slant to their thoughts, and for a few hours drove even thoughts of the pennant from the minds of Bobby and his friends.

Shiner had been invited to go for an automobile ride by a friend of his family, who was staying for a few days at Rockledge. He came rushing into the dormitory with his eyes bulging.

“Say, fellows!” he gasped, “if you want to catch those tramps of yours, come along with me.”

“What do you mean?” his chums asked in chorus, as they made a wild grab for their hats.

“I’ve seen them,” panted Shiner. “But come along and I’ll tell you. Hustle!”

The boys rushed downstairs to find an automobile waiting. Beside Mr. Wharton, the owner, they recognized the constable.

“Tumble in,” said Mr. Wharton, smiling, and a half dozen boys swarmed into the automobile.

“You see,” explained Shiner, “we passed three tramps about two miles from here, and I saw that two of them were the ones we saw the day we were swimming. I told Mr. Wharton and we put on speed, picked up the constable and hurried up for you, so that you could go along and identify them.”

Mr. Wharton had started the car the moment the boys were inside, and it was skimming along like a bird. It went so fast that the boys had to hold on to their caps, and although they were all chattering with might and main, the wind made it almost impossible for one to hear what the others were saying.

In a very few minutes they saw three figures on the lonely country road ahead. The one in the center had a limp that was familiar.

The tramps heard the coming car, and at first stood aside to let it pass. But as it slowed up on approaching them, they took alarm, climbed over a fence and started across the fields toward a piece of woodland a little way off.

Their pursuers leaped from the car and gave chase. The lithe limbs of the boys gave them an advantage over their heavier companions, and they were soon on the heels of the tramps, who turned snarling and faced them.

“Keep off or I’ll club the life out of you,” shouted one, whom they recognized as the man with the scar.

“No you won’t,” cried Bobby, defiantly.

“We want the things you stole from us,” sang out Fred.

“Jail for yours!” Mouser shouted.

They circled round the men, thus holding them in check, and in another moment Mr. Wharton and the constable had come up and each grabbed one of the men by the collar. At the sight of the constable’s star, the other quickly wilted.

The officer slipped handcuffs on them all and pushed them into the ear, while the boys crowded in as best they could, two of them standing on the running-board. In triumph, they went back to town and the men were placed in jail.

First they were searched, and, greatly to the boys’ delight, pawn tickets were found that accounted for all the articles that had been stolen from them. The money of course was gone, but the boys cared little for that, as long as they were sure that they could get back their cherished personal possessions.

“We’re some demon thief catchers, all right,” chuckled Mouser.

“He would call me red-head, would he?” grinned Fred, referring to the scar-faced tramp.

“It means good luck for us, fellows,” declared Bobby. “Now, I’m sure we’re going to down Belden.”