"Prescott!" uttered Abner Dexter hoarsely, "I've been wanting to see you again!"
"That's more than I can say about you," retorted Dick, trying to edge away.
"No! You don't get away from me like that!" hissed Ab. Dexter sharply, twisting a hand on Dick's collar. Lifting the boy from his feet, Dexter hurled him over the wall into the field.
"Now, I'm going to settle with you, young meddler!" announced Dexter, vaulting the wall and throwing himself upon Dick. "When I get through with you you'll never feel like meddling with any one again!"
"You're taking a lot upon yourself!" ventured Dick Prescott angrily.
"That's all right," laughed Dexter savagely. "Come along with me and I'll show you something really funny."
With that the man caught young Prescott up, starting across the field with him. Dick fought and struggled, but a grown man was too powerful for one thirteen-year-old boy.
"Don't make any noise," warned Dexter, as he ran with his "catch," "or I'll make you wish you hadn't opened your mouth!"
If he feared that Dick would call for help, this high-handed one was reckoning without a knowledge of the kind of boy he had to deal with. For Dick, though he was just a little more than slightly alarmed, would have been ashamed to call out for help.
"You think you're having a lot of fun," sputtered young Prescott angrily, "but you'll be sorry for this before you are through!"
"Through with whom?" demanded Dexter blandly, now.
"Before you're through with me. You'll find that you can't act like this around Gridley. Justice Lee will get hold of you again, first thing you know."
"Huh! I'll talk to you about that in a few minutes!"
"See here, where are you taking me?"
"Wherever I please."
"Then I don't know about that, either, Dexter. I've about made up my mind that I won't go any further with you."
"Oh, you won't, eh, boy! Well, just help yourself, if you can."
By this time Dexter had crossed the field and had run well inside of the grove.
Dick wriggled, getting one hand free—and then he struck Dexter a stinging blow in the face.
"Confound you!" growled the other. "I see that I've got to tame you, you young hornet!"
"You put me down, or I'll sting worse than a hornet," threatened Dick angrily. "I'm not a doormat that you can wipe your feet on."
"We'll see about that!" muttered Dexter, halting suddenly and throwing Dick savagely to the ground. He followed this up by sitting on the Grammar School boy.
Whack! Whack! Dexter struck him so savagely, both blows in the face, that Prescott gasped.
"I've got a few hundred more of those in reserve if you want 'em—or need 'em," Dick's captor advised him grimly. He still sat on the boy, looking down at him in the darkness with evil satisfaction.
"It doesn't take one long to find your number, Dexter," observed the boy undauntedly. "Your specialty is frightening women and pounding boys who offend you."
"Well, a lot of you boys hammered me this noon, didn't you!"
"Yes; and I wish I had a couple of the fellows here now," retorted Dick with spirit. "We'd soon make a coward like you seem small. You'd be on your knees, begging, if I had a couple of my chums here to help me."
"Well, you haven't got 'em, and I'll do all the talking that amounts to anything. Dick Prescott, you're the worst and freshest boy in Gridley!"
"Such a statement, coming from a fellow like you, amounts to high praise, Dexter," Dick retorted doughtily.
"None of your impudence, now, Dick Prescott! I've stood all the insolence from you that I'm going to allow."
"My! How big the man talks to the small boy!" taunted Dick. "And he had to drag the boy away off here, so that there wouldn't be a chance of another boy coming along. A man of your caliber, Dexter, may be brave enough to face one boy, when he's angry enough, but you wouldn't dare say 'boo' if one of my boy friends were here to back me up."
"I'll stop that sort of impudence right now," growled Dexter, stung more deeply by the taunts than he would have been willing to let the boy guess. "I'm pretty savage in my mind against you, at any rate, and I may as well let some of it out!"
Whack! smack! thump! Dexter began savagely to vent all of his bottled-up spite against young Prescott, striking him repeatedly, and with such force that the lad was soon aching all over.
Dick fought back as best he could, but, pinned down as he was, and in the grip of one three times as strong as himself, Dick could get in an effective blow only now and then. Such blows as he did land only served to fan Dexter's wrath to greater fury—and the boy suffered accordingly.
It would have been a brutal beating, under any circumstances, that Dick received. In his helpless condition it was doubly brutal.
"Now, do you think you've got enough to hold you for a while?" Ab. Dexter demanded, as he paused, panting.
"I'm just thinking about the time when you'll get it all back with interest!" snapped young Prescott.
"Oh, then you haven't had enough—yet?"
"I had enough before you began."
"But you haven't learned to keep a civil tongue in your head?"
"Dexter," retorted the lad, speaking more earnestly than he was aware, "I try to keep not only a civil tongue, but a pleasant manner for every human being who tries to act decently. With you it's different. Before to-day I didn't know much about you. What little I did know wasn't to your credit. But now I know you to belong to nothing better than the scum of the earth. No human being with any self-respect could be decent with you!"
"You're getting worse than ever, are you?" sneered Dexter. "I see that my work is only half started."
With that Ab. Dexter threw himself upon the boy again, giving him an even more lively beating than before.
Dick Prescott, panting with his struggles, disdained to cry out, but saved all his strength to fight back.
At last, all but exhausted, Ab. Dexter paused.
"You got a little better lesson that time," boasted the wretch.
"And I got a small lunch while you were taking your dinner," retorted Prescott, no more daunted than before. "Your nose is bleeding and your lip is cut!"
"Yes, I know it! I'm going to take that out of you presently."
"Are you enjoying yourself, Dexter?" asked the boy tauntingly.
"Yes. And before I get through with you, I'm going to make sure that you'll never interfere in my affairs again."
"Do you mean that you expect I'll stand off the next time that I see you trying to frighten your wife into supporting a lazy loafer in style?" Dick asked dryly.
"Hang you! You haven't learned your lesson yet, have you?"
"If you're trying to make me 'respect' you, Dexter, you've acted the wrong way all through to-day. You're entitled to no more respect than an Indian would show a rattlesnake."
Ab. Dexter's face was ablaze with wrath. He had expected to make this Grammar School boy beg for mercy before things had gone half as far as they had. Dick Prescott's undaunted pluck bewildered the mean bully.
"I'll make you shut up, boy, before I'm through with you!" he warned the lad.
"There's just one way to do that, Dexter!"
"Eh?"
"You'll have to knock me out."
"I'll do that, then!"
It would be wrong to seek to give the reader an impression that young Prescott was not afraid, and did not mind his two thrashings. He was afraid that Dexter would go to great lengths, yet Dick would not give the bully satisfaction by admitting any fear.
"What you've got to do, before I get through with you," Dexter announced, "is to beg my pardon and to promise that you'll never again interfere with me."
"You'll wait a long while, then," jeered Dick, "and you'll get strong man's cramp in both arms!"
"And you've got to do more than promise that much," continued the bully. "You've got to promise, solemnly, to help me in some plans that I have for the future."
"Oh? Plans against your wife, I suppose."
"Very likely," half admitted Dexter. "Whatever the plans are, you're going to help me in them."
"You're going about in a fine way, Dexter, to get my cheerful help."
"Never mind about the cheerful part of it," snarled the man. "You're going to help me, and I'm going to tame you."
"Gracious! What a fine, large tail our cat is growing," laughed Dick, though his voice did not ring very mirthfully.
Dexter, still astride his young captive, raised his fist. Prescott did not flinch, and it suddenly struck the fellow that he was going about his business in the wrong way. Dexter had never looked for a young Grammar School boy to be so firm and undaunted.
"Now, don't be a fool, Prescott," he began, trying a new tack.
"You ought to be a fine teacher in the subject of good sense," suggested Dick mockingly.
"I think I can be."
"Fire away, then."
"Prescott, you don't have much spending money, do you?"
"Not enough to worry the bank with."
"You'd like more?"
"Of course."
"I'm going to find it for you."
"You are—or do you mean that your wife is?"
Ab. Dexter winked. He had not looked for the youngster to be so keen.
"Prescott, take it from an older man. It doesn't make so much difference, in this world, where the money comes from, if a fellow only has it."
"I guess, from your actions, that's about the way you feel about it, Dexter," rejoined the boy.
"Don't you feel the same way?"
"No; I'd like to be worth a million dollars, Dexter, but I don't believe I ever shall be."
"Why not?"
"Because the opportunities for getting a million honestly are not very plentiful, and I wouldn't have a dollar—or a million—with a stain on it!"
"You simpleton!" sneered Dexter.
"There are a few of us left in the world," Dick retorted complacently. "But you, Dexter, you wouldn't care whether it was money or slime, as long as you could spend it!"
"You're talking nonsense, boy," argued Dexter, restraining himself as best he could. "Now, see here, I'm sorry I thumped you. I've got a lot of use for a boy with as much sand and grit as you've shown. I can use you, and I can show you how to make a nice little lot of money by helping me in something that I have on hand. So come on. Get up and walk along with me while we talk it over."
Dexter rose, and Dick got to his feet as nimbly as he could. He ached, though, fortunately, he was not badly crippled by the pummeling that he had received.
"Come on, now, and let's take a little walk," urged the man persuasively.
But Dick Prescott glared back at the bully with all the contempt in the world in his look.
"Nothing doing in the way of walking together, Dexter," announced the boy.
"Why not?"
"Folks might see me with you."
"Suppose they did!"
"Then they'd imagine that I knew you. Dexter, a boy who hopes to grow up and become a useful citizen can't be too careful about the company he keeps."
"You confounded little imp! You're not tamed yet."
Dexter's foot struck against a stick lying on the ground. Snatching this weapon up and uttering a cry of rage, he sprang forward to fell the boy with the club.
Had Dick turned to run Ab. Dexter would have darted after him. The bully possessed much longer legs and prided himself on his speed.
To Dexter's amazement, however, Dick did not flinch or turn.
Perhaps there was not time enough. Again, perhaps young Prescott saw two other figures moving in the darkness.
At all events, the man suddenly felt the stick fly from his hand. Then, before he could regain his self-possession, two boyish figures crouched swiftly one on each side of him.
Dexter felt his knees gripped. In the same instant two boys rose suddenly, holding on, and the bully toppled over backward.
"Never hit a man when he's down," quoth the dry voice of Greg Holmes. "But, if he isn't even any sort of a man, it doesn't matter!"
Thump! Greg brought his not very big fist down on Dexter's nose. It was an ugly blow, delivered before the bully could recover from his own amazement.
Dave Darrin, the other boy, did not even wait to speak. He began to rain down blows on the prostrate enemy.
"Here, stop that, Davey!" urged Dick, darting forward. "Don't hit the cur any more."
"But he was going to club you," argued Dave, hitting two more blows.
"Stop this, boys! Let up! I'll clear out," begged Ab. Dexter.
Dick, finding that neither of his chums was much inclined to stop the merited punishment, darted in and forcibly dragged Darrin off Dexter's prostrate form.
"Let me have him, for a minute or two yet," coaxed Greg Holmes. "You know, Dick, he was going to club you."
"I know it," rejoined young Prescott doggedly. "He did thrash me twice, and it hurt. I don't believe in soiling our hands on anything like this fellow, when it can be helped. Besides, we're too many."
Though Dave and Greg had now both been pulled off their prey, they hovered over Dexter, who seemed afraid to rise for fear it would lead to a renewed onslaught.
"Stand back, fellows," coaxed Dick, pushing them gently. "Dexter, I told you you'd be a booby in any fight where you couldn't have it all your own way. I was right about it. Get up, now—and make your fly-away while I'm still able to hold these two bulldogs in leash. Hustle now!"
Dick emphasized his advice with a kick, but it was not a vicious one. Ab. Dexter looked up in wonder. Then he rose, crouchingly, next made a sprinter's start and bolted.
"Humph! We can never get him now," uttered Dave Darrin disgustedly. "Whew! I wish I could run as fast as that."
"You can learn," replied Dick.
"Yes; in about ten years!"
"Dave, you could learn to run a heap faster than you do, and in a mighty short time."
"How?"
"Just start in to train. Get someone who knows something about it to give you pointers on running. Pshaw! I believe our whole crowd ought to start in to learn to run. To run, really, I mean. If I had been a faster runner to-night I might have gotten away from that bully. I might have saved myself from a good many aches that I've got just now."
"You aching?" questioned Darrin. "What makes you ache?"
"Dexter gave me two hard thrashings before you fellows got along."
"He did?" sputtered Dave vengefully. "O Dick, why did you ever let him get away from us?"
"I'm glad I did something to the sneak while I had the chance," declared Greg Holmes.
"First of all, tell me how you fellows came to find me," suggested Dick Prescott.
"Oh, that's easy enough to account for," Dave replied. "Greg and I were on Main Street looking for you. Then we went down to the store. Your mother told us that you'd gone to Mrs. Davis's with a package of books, so we set out to meet you on your return. And right over there, on the street, we came across a little girl, white, scared and half crying. She said she had seen a man grab you up, throw you over the wall——"
"Yes, that happened," nodded Prescott.
"And the little kiddie said she saw the man jump over the wall, grab you up and start for the woods. She was sure the wicked man was going to kill you."
"Dexter was mad enough, but he lacked the sand for going that far, I guess," remarked Prescott.
"He might not be without the sand," argued Dave. "I've got a notion that Dexter, while a coward, perhaps, about some things, would go about as far as his anger drove him. I'm glad we came along, anyway."
"So am I. You fellows sneaked in so quietly in the dark, that I didn't see you until just before you tackled Dexter. Well, there's no great harm done, thanks to you, Dave, and to you, Greg. Let's get back to Main Street."
As the youngsters crossed the field and strolled up the street, Dick gave an accurate account of what had befallen him.
"So the sneak wanted to pay you to help him in some dirty sort of work?" demanded Dave, his dark eyes ablaze with disgust.
"I imagine it must have been dirty work, since Dexter had planned it out," Dick admitted, smiling.
"The hound! But then, see here, Dick; if Dexter wanted you to help him in anything of that sort, it means that he's going to try to bother that poor wife of his again."
"It looks that way, Dave."
"Then we ought to warn Mrs. Dexter, so that she can be on her guard against the worthless rascal."
"I've been thinking of that, Dave. Yes; I'm sure we must go and give Mrs. Dexter a hint. It wouldn't be right not to tell her of what may be ahead of her."
"We might go around to her house to-morrow afternoon after school, eh?" proposed Greg.
"Football practice to-morrow afternoon," retorted Dave Darrin dryly.
"Besides, to-morrow afternoon might be too late," urged Dick. "Fellows, when we have a message like this, which may be of great importance to some other human being, there's no time for doing the errand like—now!"
"That's right, too," approved Dave. "It won't take us more than five minutes to reach Mrs. Dexter's house. Let's head for there at the next corner?"
That being agreed to, the three chums set out at a brisk walk. A few minutes later Dick was pulling the doorbell of Mrs. Dexter's new home, while Dave and Greg stood just a little below him on the steps.
It was a pretty little house, of ten rooms; not as large a house as Mrs. Dexter might have been able to afford, but one that was a happy contrast to the three-room flat in which Mrs. Dexter had lived when obliged to support herself at dressmaking. As yet there were but two servants on the place—a woman who did the house-work and a hired man, who slept in a room over the little barn at the rear of the house.
"Will you ask Mrs. Dexter if she can see us, please?" asked Dick, lifting his cap, when the woman-of-all-work opened the door. "Kindly tell her that we have news for her which we think may be very important."
"Come in, boys," replied the housekeeper, doubtless pleased by Dick's deference in raising his cap, an example in which he had been promptly followed by Dave and Greg.
The woman showed them into a little parlor. Mrs. Dexter soon came down and greeted them.
"I'm very glad you boys have called on me," she said. "You and your other friends did me a service to-day that I can't forget. I was on the way to the bank to leave the jewels and the money when you helped me so handsomely."
"We've come, Mrs. Dexter," said Dick, "to tell you what happened to-night. It may be the means of saving you from further trouble with Mr. Dexter."
Then Dick told the story of his adventure that evening. Dave and Greg added a few words at the end.
"So we think," summed up Dick, "that Mr. Dexter may not yet be through with his schemes against you. Excuse us, Mrs. Dexter, but don't you think it would be well to have a man sleep in the house—one that you can depend on if Dexter comes here to make trouble?"
"Yes, indeed. My hired man is a straight-forward fellow. I'll have him stay around here more, and I'll have a room fitted up in the house for him. Mr. Dexter isn't usually extremely brave. I imagine that the hired man can take care of him if he puts in an appearance. At all events, I shall feel safer for having a man in the house."
Their errand being done, the three Grammar School boys would have risen to go, but Mrs. Dexter detained them, asking many questions about their school life.
Then, somehow, the story came out of the newly organized Central Grammar football squad.
"Oh, but that is going to be fine!" cried Mrs. Dexter. "Manly sports always make boys stronger, and give them a better sense of fair play when such a sense is needed. You'll have uniforms, of course. What will your uniforms be like?"
"That's one of the points we haven't decided on yet," smiled Dick. "The uniforms will have to come, in good time."
"Your football organization has a treasurer, of course?"
"He's a luxury we don't need yet," laughed Dave.
"Why not?"
"Because there isn't any treasury."
"Yet there will be, of course—that is, if——"
Suddenly Mrs. Dexter looked mightily pleased and clapped her hands.
"I've stumbled on to one of your secrets, boys," she cried. "You haven't any treasury, and you're still wondering where the money can come from to pay for uniforms. Well, you needn't wonder any longer. All of you boys who helped me to-day are interested in the football plan. You did me a very great service to-day, and you've done me another one to-night. Now I'm going to buy the football uniforms. How much will they cost—ten dollars apiece?"
"Five or six ought to buy as good uniforms as we'll need," replied Dick Prescott, reddening. "But, Mrs. Dexter, we don't want——"
"Let me have my own way, won't you?" she pleaded plaintively. "It's such a very new thing for me to be able to have my own way. I'm going to write the check, to-night, to pay for the uniforms. Don't stop me, please don't."
Mrs. Dexter rose and went over to a little desk, where she sat fingering her checkbook.
"Now please give me some idea of what such uniforms cost. I want to do it nicely for you boys. Excuse me just a moment, though."
Mrs. Dexter touched a bell on her desk and the housekeeper entered.
"Jane, when I put Myra to bed this evening, she showed signs of a cough. I don't want the child to get croupy and not know anything about it. Just run up and watch Myra, won't you, without waking her? Then come down and let me know, after a few minutes."
The housekeeper started upstairs. Mrs. Dexter returned to the subject of football uniforms, while the three boys, red-faced and reluctant, answered her questions. They appreciated her kindness, but they did not want her to pay for the uniforms. To Dick and his chums it looked too much like begging.
A shriek sounded upstairs. Then Jane came rushing down.
"Oh, ma'am!" she cried in dismay. "Myra's gone—her bed's empty, and the clothes that she wore have been taken from the chair!"
While Mrs. Dexter turned deathly pale and tottered, Dick Prescott leaped up, exclaiming:
"It's the work of Dexter. That's the scheme he had!"
"The wretch has stolen Myra! I didn't I think he would dare do that," cried the woman.
Mrs. Dexter had never made any effort to secure a divorce from her worthless husband. After he had abandoned her she had appeared in court and had had herself appointed sole guardian and custodian of little Myra. Under the law, therefore, Dexter, if he stole Myra away from the mother, could be arrested and punished for abduction.
At this frantic moment, however, Mrs. Dexter was not thinking of punishments. All she wanted was to get her child back in her own keeping.
"Isn't it possible there's a mistake?" demanded Greg of the dismayed housekeeper. "The little one may have gotten up out of bed. She may be in some other part of the house."
"Not much!" interjected the housekeeper. "The child's jacket and coat are gone from a hook near by."
After the first moment of fright Mrs. Dexter had raced upstairs; now she came down again.
"Myra's really gone," she cried, sobbing. "And no one but Dexter would think of stealing her from me. He has done it for spite—or as the means of extorting more money from me."
"A man could hardly go through the streets carrying a child that didn't want to be carried. The child could cry out and attract attention," guessed Dick.
"Myra wouldn't cry out. She would be cowed by her father's threats. She always was afraid of him," wailed Mrs. Dexter.
"Are you going to appeal to the police?" Dick asked.
"I—I must."
"Then you're losing time, Mrs. Dexter—and there's your telephone. We boys will go out into the streets and see if we can find any trace—pick up any word. When we came along there was a cab standing in front of the Grahams. But I suppose that cab belonged to some of their visitors."
"The Grahams have been out of town for the last few days," broke in Mrs. Dexter. "There has been no one at their house, except one old man who acts as care-taker."
"Then Dexter may have had that cab waiting for him," flashed young Prescott. "Come along, fellows! Let's see what we can find out."
Dave and Greg were at the street door ahead of their young leader. None of the boys paused longer, for Mrs. Dexter was already at her telephone.
Out in the street the three Grammar School lads raced along the sidewalk until they reached the house of the Graham family. The cab was gone.
"We can find that cab anywhere," declared Dick. "Any one else would recognize it. It had one brown, or dark horse, and one gray horse."
"I didn't notice the driver," stated Darrin.
"He was sitting inside the cab," spoke up Greg. "I didn't get a good look at him, either."
"Going to race on into Main Street?" asked Dave, as the three came to a street corner.
"Dexter would hardly drive right into the clutches of the police, would he?" pondered Prescott. "No; I think it'll turn out that he went the opposite way, out of town."
Saying this, Dick headed for the outskirts of Gridley, still keeping along at a dog-trot. Dave and Greg didn't talk now; they were husbanding their store of "wind."
After a short time all three boys had to slow down to a walk. That "pain in the side," which seizes all boys who try to run far without training and practice, had caught them. Still, they moved along as fast as they could go.
"Excuse me, mister," hailed Dick, halting the first man they met, who came strolling toward them, smoking a pipe, "have you seen a cab go by?"
"Yes."
"Oldish cab?" broke in Dave.
"One gray horse and one dark or brown?" breathed Greg.
"Yep."
"How long ago?" asked all three.
"'Bout two minutes ago. Why?"
"Which way did it go?" breathed Dick anxiously.
"Why, the driver stopped me," explained the man, taking out his pipe, "and asked if there was a drug store ahead in this part of the town. I told him he'd find one on the next block, around the next corner to the left. So——"
"Thank you!" came politely from three breathless boys, and off they started again on a trot.
"Any one sick?" called the man after them. "Huh! Curious how excited those boys are!"
"Two minutes! I'm afraid horses will leave us far behind with that start," groaned Dick.
Then they turned around the corner. Ahead of them, in front of the little drug store, or rather, just past the entrance, stood the cab that occupied all their thoughts at the present time.
"There it is!" breathed Dick excitedly, as though forgetful of the fact that his chums had eyes also. "Come along—over on the other side of the street—in the dark."
In a twinkling all three lads had crossed stealthily to the further side of the little street.
"Oh, for a policeman!" appealed Dick. "Or any full-grown man, who would listen to us and have the grit to give us a strong hand."
"If Dexter has the little girl, and that's his cab, what has he taken her into a drug store for?" whispered Dave.
"We don't know that he has taken her into the store. We don't know anything until we see it," was Dick's answer. "Dexter didn't stop for a trifle. He isn't buying Myra a glass of soda, or anything like that."
The three boys were stealing down the street, on the further side, keeping close in the shadow of the buildings. They did not wish to risk being seen until they had had a chance for a good look at the cab and its possible contents.
Dick's reason for crossing the street had been that he had first caught sight of the driver standing on the sidewalk beside the cab. If he could get down close to the cab, and have that vehicle between himself and the driver, Dick hoped that he would have a chance to steal across the street and look inside the rig.
By good luck, combined with stealth, Dick, Dave and Greg succeeded in gaining a point on the street opposite the cab.
"Careful, now," whispered Dick, "one bad move might spoil everything."
On tip-toe they crossed. At a point midway in the street they halted a brief instant. From this point they could make out the unmistakable form of Ab. Dexter at the back of the drug store, walking to and fro as if waiting for something.
No word was spoken. Still on tip-toe the boys went on until they stood by one of the doors of the cab.
Dave and Greg made way for Dick to get up close and peer into the vehicle.
Young Prescott gave a start of exultation as he made out a little, wrapped-up human bundle huddled on the back seat. It was little four-year-old Myra. She had collapsed into a heap and was very softly sobbing to herself, wholly unaware of what might be passing outside.
On the further side of the cab, standing on the sidewalk, Dick caught sight of the man whom he presumed to be the driver. The fellow was standing staring fixedly ahead.
"If he had been looking the other way he would have caught us coming down the street," flashed through Prescott's mind.
Then he turned, nodding swiftly, silently, at his companions.
They had found Myra, these Grammar School lads, but in a desperate fight, Dexter and the driver would prove overwhelming odds. The pair of rascals could knock these youngsters senseless and whip up the horses for a dash.
What was to be done?
In sheer nervousness Dave Darrin began to try the handle of the cab door. Then, understanding coming to him, Dave tried in earnest to see whether he could unfasten the door with out making the least noise.
All three of the lads realized that it was a ticklish moment. Even Myra, if startled, might give the scream that would betray and defeat them.
Steadily Dave worked at his problem. Dick and Greg, quivering, stood alertly on guard on either side of him.
Squeak! That cab-door handle needed oiling sadly. Even under Darrin's cautious handling it gave forth a noise that sounded startling in the stillness.
"What's that?" they heard the driver mutter, as he started. Then came the sound of footsteps, as the driver wheeled and ran around behind the cab.
He was bearing down straight upon them!
"Hustle, Dave—into the cab!" shouted Dick Prescott lustily.
Darrin obeyed like a flash, pulling the door shut.
"What are you young monkeys doing here?" yelled the driver hoarsely. Then, as he caught better sight of them, he snarled:
"Oh, I know you boys! You belong to the Butt-insky family!"
The driver's next remark was "ouch!" as Greg darted in and struck him fairly at the belt line. In the same instant young Prescott managed to trip the fellow.
"Boss!" bawled the driver, as he struck the pavement.
"Into the cab with you, Greg!" shouted Dick.
Dave swung the door open, and in the same instant Greg bolted inside, while Dick Prescott made a single bound at the front wheel, from which he mounted to the driver's seat.
"None of that!" yelled the driver, getting upon his feet and moving forward. At the same moment another man came to the door of the drug store.
That man was—must have been—Abner Dexter. He wore the same clothes that Dick remembered, but over his head and face were drawn a wig and beard that made him look some one else.
Whish! Dick's left hand clutched at the reins, but his right hand grasped the whip. That useful implement described an arc downward and caught the driver roundly, judging by the yell that the fellow let out.
"Gid-dap!" yelled young Prescott, completing the swing of the whip by bringing it down across the horses' backs.
The startled animals leaped forward, the lurch almost throwing Dick from the box; in fact, it nearly overturned the cab.
But the vehicle soon righted itself, and Dick, somewhat scared, yet steady, pulled the horses down to a steady trot and reined them in closer together.
The disguised man who had come out of the drug store succeeded in resting one hand for an instant on the body of the cab. But the springing horses carried it away from him. For a few rods the man pursued, the smarting driver bringing up the rear.
Then both pursuers halted, panting, cursing, at the same time, as only foul-mouthed ruffians can.
Inside, Myra was shrieking with fright.
"We're your mother's friends, Myra, and are taking you back to her," explained Dave, holding the small child on his knee and trying to quiet her.
Greg Holmes, in the meantime, was more concerned with looking out of the window.
"Why, say," muttered Greg. "Dick ain't driving to Mrs. Dexter's, not by a long shot. He seems to be heading straight into the business part of the town."
"You leave Dick Prescott alone to know what he's doing," advised Dave Darrin calmly.
"Yes; I guess that's right," assented Greg.
"Dick is the longest-headed fellow in our school."
"Except me," grinned Greg modestly.
"You? Huh! I'm glad you're not outside on the box."
"I reckon it's the first time Dick ever drove cab horses."
"He'll do it right, anyway."
"But I wonder why he isn't going to the Dexter house," pursued young Holmes.
Then Myra took fright again.
"Take me home!" she cried. "I want to see my mamma!"
From that she passed into wild sobbing, taxing all Dave Darrin's powers to ease her mind.
"You're going home, Myra," he wound up. "You're going to see your mother."
"My papa is a bad man!"
"Well, he's not here now," smiled Dave. "Did you ever hear of Dick Prescott?"
"Yes; he's a nice boy."
"You're right he is," added Dave with enthusiasm. "Well, Dick is up outside, driving the horses, and he'll take us home by the way that it's best to go."
"Here we are in Main Street," announced Greg wonderingly.
Dave thought he began to understand Prescott's plan, but he said nothing. A few moments later the cab turned down one of the side streets, then halted before a cluster of lights.
"The police station!" exploded Greg.
"Of course," nodded Dave.
"Why 'of course'?"
"Because it's part of Dick's plan."
"Come out, fellows," called Dick. "We're at the end of our trip, thank goodness."
Greg opened the door, Dave stepping out with Myra in his arms.
"My mamma doesn't live here," cried the child uneasily.
"No, but it's all right," Dave urged soothingly. "You come right along and see if it isn't."
Dick led the way up the police-station steps. In the office three uniformed members of the force were talking excitedly. One of them was the night lieutenant, Janeway.
"I tell you, Lieutenant, the thing was done so slickly that the child ain't going to be found to-night," one of the patrolmen was saying.
"If you're talking about Myra Dexter, guess again," laughed young Prescott. "Here she is now."
Three astounded policemen turned to regard the happy-faced Grammar School boys.
"Then she wasn't stolen at all?" demanded one of the patrolmen. "Just strolled away and got lost, eh?"
"Oh, no!" Dick retorted. "Myra was stolen, all right; but we stole her back again."
"How?"
"We took her away from her father and a cab-driver," chuckled Greg Holmes.
"Stop telling us any nonsense like that," interposed the lieutenant sternly. "Tell us where you found the child."
Dick related the story briefly. The policemen were at first inclined to doubt the story, but one of them glanced outside and saw the cab.
"If you'll let me offer a suggestion," went on Dick, "there's a mother at home who is nearly crazy with grief. Hadn't you better call Mrs. Dexter on the telephone and tell her that Myra is safe with you?"
The lieutenant quickly wheeled to his 'phone, calling for Mrs. Dexter's number. One of the policemen, in the meantime, received Myra in his arms.
"Mrs. Dexter?" called the lieutenant into the transmitter. "This is the police station. We have your little girl here, all safe and sound. How was she found? Three schoolboys, Dick Prescott, Dave Dar—— Oh, you know the names? Well, they trailed the cab to where it had stopped outside of a drug store. They knocked the driver down and got away with the cab. How did three boys manage to do such a deed? Wait! I'll let Master Prescott himself tell you over the 'phone."
The lieutenant wheeled about.
"Where in the name of mischief are those boys?" he demanded. The two policemen turned in equal confusion. Certain it was that the Grammar School boys had bolted.
So the lieutenant sent out to find a driver, and one of his policemen got inside with Myra, to take her home. The policeman was also instructed to remain on guard outside through the night, in case Dexter and his confederate should feel inclined to make another attempt to abduct the little one.
Dick and his chums, after leaving the station house silently, had run until they found themselves around the corner on Main Street.
"We don't want to be thanked any more by Mrs. Dexter to-night," Dick ventured to his friends.
"We certainly don't," agreed Dave.
"What'll we do now?" asked Greg.
"We'll go home," suggested young Prescott. "Our folks will be wondering where we are."
"Whee! But we'll have a lot to tell the folks!" chuckled Greg. "When my mother hears what we've been through to-night the chances are ten to one that she'll make me stay in nights."
"Not if she pauses to think what you did to help another mother out," hinted Dave.
"Well, good night, fellows," called Dick as he reached his corner. "We've had a bully time, but that won't get us up early in the morning."
The bookstore was due to close at nine o'clock, but it was twenty-five minutes after that hour when Dick swung in through the front door.
"Mother, here's the boy," called Mr. Prescott, being the first to espy the returning son. "Young man, you'll have to give your mother a good account of yourself. She's been worrying about you."
"Oh, I knew Dick was in no great danger," laughed Mrs. Prescott, coming forward to kiss her son, now that her worry had ended pleasantly. "But, Richard, you're still a bit young to stay out so late."
"I suppose, mother, that depends a bit upon what I've been doing, doesn't it?"
"Why, has anything happened out of the usual?"
"I'll tell you about it," agreed the lad.
"Wait until I put up the shutters and lock the door," directed his father. "Then we'll all go upstairs."
Gathered on the floor above, the Prescotts listened in amazement to what their son narrated.
"Why, I never heard of so much happening before in one day," gasped Mrs. Prescott.
"It never happened to me, before, anyway," laughed Dick. "However, I hope I've brought home a good excuse for being out a little late."
"Dick," broke in his father solemnly, "the next time any such train of events happens you have my permission to be out until—let me see. Well, say, until quarter of ten. But don't let such things happen too often. And now, to bed with you!"
"Dick is not going to bed just yet," interposed his mother. "A boy who has been as active as he has to-night is bound to be hungry. Come with me to the pantry."
Before Gridley left its breakfast tables the following morning Dick Prescott and his chums were rather famous.
For the editor of the "Blade" had played up the Dexter abduction for the big local story in the morning's issue.
Dick saw it, of course, and felt a curious thrill when he saw his own name in big block type. The names of Dave and Greg were also there.
"I'll read the yarn to you while you eat," smiled his father. "This is a great day for you, lad. You're tasting, for the first time, the sensation of looming large in the public eye."
Dick read the story over twice for himself before starting for school. Yet the first thrill was missing.
"Pshaw! Len Spencer, or someone, has made a hero tale out of a boys' lark," muttered the Grammar School boy. "It sounded fine, at first, but that just shows how ready a fellow is to believe he's smarter than other folks. Whee! But we'll get a choice lot of teasing out of the fellows at school to-day!"
Prescott was glad, that morning, that he contrived to pick up Dave and Greg on the way to school.
"Get yourselves braced," Dick warned his friends. "All the fellows will be out to roast us for being 'heroes.' Oh, we'll catch it."
No sooner had the three turned the corner that led down to the school than one of their class-mates "spotted" them.
"Here come Dick & Co!" roared the discoverer. "Turn out! Give 'em a welcome! Dick & Co.—lost children trapped and trained! See the real, bony-fido heroes! 'Ray! Now, then, altogether—ouch!"
The spouter found himself suddenly flat on his back on the sidewalk, having been sent there by a vigorous trip from Tom Reade.
"All that ails you, Hen Dutcher, is that you didn't get your name in the paper," called Tom denouncingly. "But you will, one of these days. It'll be in the police-court news, though. Sixty days for vagrancy!"
"Say, do you know what I'll do to you?" demanded young Dutcher, clenching his fists and advancing upon Reade.
"Nothing," asserted Tom calmly. "That's all you ever do, except make a noise with your mouth. I never hear your mouth making any noise, though, when recitation in arithmetic is going on."
"You think you're smart, don't you?" glowered Hen Dutcher.
"I don't think you are, anyway," retorted Tom, turning on his heel.
Dan Dalzell and Harry Hazelton were at hand, and now the whole of Dick & Co. presented a rather solid front. Some of the other boys wanted to do some "guying," but Tom's prompt and vigorous rebuke to Dutcher had cooled the ardor of a lot of would-be teasers.
The bell rang soon, calling all inside. School opened as usual, but after a little Old Dut glanced up, looking keenly at Dick and two of the latter's friends.
"I am glad to be able to tell you all," began the principal, "that three of my boys, last night——"
As he paused all eyes were turned toward three boys who were turning different shades of red.
"Three of my boys," continued Old Dut, "did their school credit by displaying the qualities of good citizenship. You all know whom I mean. Master Prescott, do you care to rise and tell us something of the events of last night?"
"I'd rather not, sir," pleaded Prescott.
"Master Darrin?" pursued Old Dut.
"I feel like Master Prescott, only more so," replied Dave, turning redder still.
"Master Holmes?"
"By the advice of my lawyer," rejoined Greg solemnly, "I have nothing to say."
"I'm glad to see that our young men are modest, as well as brave," continued Old Dut.
Some of the boys had been staring expectantly, some of the girls admiringly. Laura Bentley, the doctor's daughter, looked secretly pleased when she heard Dick decline to tell of his adventures.
"First class in American history will now recite," announced Old Dut, and the work of the day had begun. Yet, somehow, most of the pupils seemed to have forgotten whatever they had previously known of the campaign against Richmond.
At recess Dick, Dave and Greg, flanked by their three other chums, managed to keep clear of tormentors.
When school was out at noon, however, one boy called out:
"Are we going to have football practice this afternoon, Dick?"
"He can't waste the time," sang out Hen Dutcher derisively. "He has a job going a-heroing."
Tom Reade turned sharply, but this time there was no need of his darting at the tormentor. Six boys had promptly caught up Hen—two by the legs, two at the body and two more at the shoulders. Rushing Hen to the nearest tree, they promptly and soundly spanked him by the very simple method of holding his legs apart and swinging his body smartly against the tree-trunk.
"You kids think ye're smart!" growled Hen ruefully, as he rubbed himself.
"Everyone knows you're not, Hen," retorted one of the late spankers. "You're only stupidly fresh."
Hen quickly subsided and vanished.
"Yes; we ought to have football practice this afternoon," Dick answered, when the question was put to him again. "We have no time to lose if we're going to play this season. How many of you fellows have studied the rules?"
"I have," answered several.
"But, say," broke in one boy, "we can just as well give up the idea of having uniforms. We fellows can't raise the cash."
"Mrs. Dexter has offered to buy the uniforms," put in Greg incautiously.
"Has she?"
A whoop of delight went up from some of the boys.
"She'll be able to buy us bully ones; she has lots of money these days," declared one listener.
"Yes; Mrs. Dexter offered to supply the money," Dick admitted. "But, fellows, I want you all to think that over. I, for one, shall vote against getting our uniforms that way."
"Why?" came a chorus.
"Because, fellows, if we haven't brains and industry enough to get our uniforms ourselves we've no business togging up at all. We can play pretty good football, for that matter, with nothing but the ball itself."
Some sided with Dick; others were in favor of letting any one who was willing provide the field togs for the Central Grammar School eleven.
Dick didn't stop to argue long. He was hungry for his dinner. On Main Street he parted from his chums, pursuing his way home alone. He had not gone far when he had to pass a new building in process of erection. Three stories had already been built up, and the workmen were now engaged in putting on the fourth and last story.
Dick was just passing the main entrance of the new building when he heard a warning rattle above. Instinct made him dart into the entrance.
Nor did he move an instant too soon. Some thirty bricks fell to the sidewalk with a great clatter. Among them landed a heavy hod.
"My! But that was a close shave!" quivered the boy. "A second or two later and my head would have been split open!"
He darted out, but did not stop until he had reached the middle of the road.
"Hey!" Prescott shouted up to the top of the building, but no one answered.
"Be careful, up there, where you dump your bricks!" called Dick once more.
A customer coming out of a store next door caught sight of the bricks and the hod.
"What's the matter, Prescott?" called the man.
"Some workman was careless, and let that hod and all the bricks fall," Dick answered. "I heard them coming, and got in out of the shower just in time."
"No workman did that," muttered the man, after staring in bewilderment for a moment. "The men are all off, getting their dinner."
"Then who could have done it?" Dick wanted to know.
"Humph! If you have any enemies, Prescott, I'd say that trick was done by some one who didn't care how badly you were hurt."
"Oh, nonsense!" rejoined Dick. "I don't believe any one hates me badly enough to do a thing like that."
"Didn't you have some trouble with a couple of men yesterday?"
"Why, yes; but——"
Dick halted suddenly, looking puzzled. Could it be possible, after all, that this was a "delicate" attention from Ab. Dexter?
For Dexter had no need to be afraid of walking the streets of Gridley. His wife had refused to procure a warrant for him on the charge of attempted abduction of Myra. She was unwilling that her child should bear the disgrace of having a father in prison.
Three other men had drawn close and halted. To them the first man explained what had happened.
"Come on!" cried one of the newcomers, hastening into the building. "One of you stay out on the sidewalk; another go to the back of the building. We'll soon find out whether there's any one in the building."
Dick joined, as the person most interested, in the swift, thorough search that was made.
No other human being than the searchers, however, was to be found in the building.
"I don't believe any one threw it at me," said Dick thoughtfully, after all hands had returned to the street. "The hod must have been left standing near the edge of the building—perhaps against the top of a ladder. Then the breeze up there may have jarred it out of place. At any rate, I'm not hurt, and no harm is done. But I wish to thank all of you gentlemen for taking the trouble to make the search."
"Humph!" muttered one of the men, after Dick had hurried away. "The idea of a hod being left standing, and then being blown over into the street doesn't satisfy me!"
Dick was late reaching home. What he had in the way of dinner he had to force down hurriedly, and then start for school once more.
After school that afternoon most of the boys of seventh and eighth grades turned up at the field, eager for more football work.
"It seems to me," announced Dick thoughtfully, "that there is no sense in kicking a ball around the field aimlessly. There isn't much use in rushes or mass plays, either, until we know what we are doing and can do it according to the rules. So, fellows, what do you say to seeing who knows the rules best? Let's have a drill in rules."
Many of the youngsters objected to that as being too tame. Yet Dick's idea carried the day, after all. Some of the fellows went away, thinking this sort of procedure too much like a lesson and too little like fun. After nearly an hour's discussion of the rules two elevens were formed and there was time for some play.
Dick & Co. left the field together. On the way home young Prescott spoke of the falling of the bricks at noon.
"That wasn't any accident," spoke up Dave, with an air of great conviction.
"You think some one did that on purpose?"
"I'm sure of it," Dave asserted.
"Who could have done it?"
"Who but Ab. Dexter?"
"Wrong!" volunteered Tom Reade. "Up at the field a man in a buggy hauled up to watch the play. He happened to mention that he had seen Dexter over in Stayton this noon. Stayton is nine miles away from here."
"Then of course it wasn't Dexter," declared Dick.
"It must have been that other fellow," suggested Greg.
"You mean that special officer, Driggs?" inquired Dick.
"Of course. And I'll tell you where else we saw that fellow Driggs. He was the driver of the cab last night. I've just placed that voice of his."
"Then Driggs was disguised last night, the same as Dexter was."
"Of course."
"And I can tell you something else," continued Tom Reade. "I know what Dexter was doing in the drug store last night. I met Len Spencer this noon. Len had been investigating."
"What did Dexter want in the drug store?" asked Prescott.
"Soothing syrup. Len says he guesses that Ab. Dexter was afraid Myra would make too much noise before he got through the night, and that Dexter must have meant to drug the child into quietness."
"It ought not to have taken Dexter all that time just to get a bottle of soothing syrup," suggested Prescott.
"It did, in this case," Reade declared. "The druggist thought there was something queer in Dexter's manner, and so he questioned him sharply as to what Dexter wanted to do with the stuff. Dexter got confused, next angry, and the druggist had about made up his mind not to sell the stuff."
"Well, I hope we've heard the last of that precious pair, Driggs and Dexter," murmured Dalzell plaintively.
"Mrs. Dexter holds the key to that situation," remarked Dick thoughtfully. "If she lets Dexter have money, from time to time, he'll still hang around. If she won't let him have money, and has herself guarded from him, then by and by he'll get tired. Then he'll clear out for new scenes and try some other scheme of getting a living without working. Mrs. Dexter——"
"Sh!" warned Harry Hazelton. "Speaking of angels, here she comes now."
"Boys, I've been looking for you," cried Mrs. Dexter, halting before them. "We didn't come to an understanding last night about the uniforms for your football team."
"How's Myra to-day?" asked Dick, anxious to shelve the other topic.
"She's all right to-day, except that the child is very nervous. That is natural, of course, after her bad scare last night."
"Aren't you afraid to leave her alone?"
"Myra isn't alone. She has Jane to look after her, and Special Officer Grimsby is in the house. I have hired Mr. Grimsby to live at my house for the present. He's a brave man, and will stop any nonsense that may be tried by certain people."
"Well, we must be getting along," urged Prescott. "It is very near our supper time, and——"
"But about the uniforms?" persisted Mrs. Dexter.
"Mrs. Dexter, the fellows appreciate your offer very highly. It pleased them all to know that you made it."
"I'm glad to hear that," smiled Mrs. Dexter.
"But, ma'am," Prescott continued just as earnestly, "while the fellows all feel extremely grateful, they would rather you didn't think of doing anything of the sort. The fellows feel that if they're smart enough to wear football uniforms, they're smart enough to get 'em. It would take all feeling of hustle out of the team if some one else smoothed the way for them like that."
"I see," half assented Mrs. Dexter reluctantly.
"Therefore, ma'am, if you will accept our gratitude for your offer, and agree to the notion of the fellows that they'll do best if they do their own hustling, we'll all be mightily pleased as well as grateful."
"Oh, well, then," replied the good woman, "we'll simply consider that the matter is postponed. I can't agree, as easily as this, to drop what I have considered my privilege."
As soon as could be, Dick & Co. made their escape.
They met again for a little while in the evening. Nothing of any real moment happened while they were together.
While Dave Darrin was on his way home, however, and going along a dark part of the street, something whizzed by his head, striking the sidewalk just ahead.
"Quit your fooling!" yelled Dave, wheeling about angrily.
No human being, however, was in sight. Dave ran back, some two hundred feet in all, but could see no one on the little street, nor in any hiding place near by.
Then Dave went back to inspect the missile. It was a stone, slightly larger than his two fists together.
"Whew!" whistled Dave inwardly. "That thing wasn't meant for any joke, either!"