It was all in the game, and Leslie knew no reason why he should not avail himself of this splendid opportunity for evening the score. Three against two seemed heavy odds, according to his mind; and really that paling must have been lying there for just the purpose to which he now meant to put it.
Giving another cry of delight he proceeded to assail the astonished and bewildered trio. Every time the cudgel descended there was a howl of pain, and it was wonderful how quickly the enthusiasm of the three assailants oozed out. As Leslie continued to belabor them right and left they lost all desire to attack, and thought only of beating a rapid retreat.
The patter of their fleeing footsteps died away in the near distance, and the two panting chums held the battlefield in triumph.
“Wow! that was lively while it lasted, I tell you!” exclaimed Leslie, between puffs. “I’m only sorry I didn’t get in as many hard licks on Nat as I wanted. But he dodged after that first crack.”
“That was a lucky find of yours, I must say!” declared Dick. “You’d better keep that old paling and hang it up in your den, decorated with a blue ribbon, for it certainly took the cake.”
“We’d have fared badly only for my luck in running across it, I’m afraid,” ventured Leslie, caressing his “lucky find” as though he had already conceived more or less affection for the stick of wood.
“Yes, for both of us were getting winded, and say what you will, three against two are big odds,” agreed Dick.
“But what under the sun did they do it for?” demanded the other, with a vein of wonder, as well as indignation, in his voice. “We hadn’t anything especial to do with their being thrown out tonight—that is, more than the rest of the fellows.”
“Oh! I can explain that all right,” Dick told him, without any hesitation.
“I wish you would then,” urged Leslie, “because it’s all Greek to me.”