"You mean of my own free will?" asked Lil Artha, fighting for a little time, so that he could make sure of having his chums come up for the crisis.
"Yes, climb in, Lil Artha!"
"I refuse; and defy the whole bunch of you. I'm going to stick to the rules of the game; and you can't make me change my mind. Bah!" the tall scout shouted.
"Tackle him, and if he fights back, don't be too gentle with the big cub. He's going to be carried five miles and more, whether he wants to go or not!"
As the leader snapped this out there were heard sounds of a scuffle. No need of daylight to tell those who were crouching so close at hand what was taking place.
Grunts and low exclamations told that Lil Artha was doing his level best to resist the onslaught of the four Fairfield rowdies.
Still, the tall scout from the Ridge was only a boy after all; and if those opposed to him were less lengthy, that was no reason they lacked in physical powers. And left to himself, there could have been no doubt in the world but that after a gallant resistance Lil Artha would have found himself bundled into the car, possibly bearing numerous cuts and contusions on his body as mute witnesses to the fight he had put up.
And once they had him in the tonneau, three could hold him tight while the other fellow started the machine. After that it would have been "one, two, three," in the language of Lil Artha himself, so far as his right to claim the prize of the great hike was concerned.
There could be no doubt but that the boy who was thus attacked was following out the suggestions given by his patrol leader. This was made evident by the loud cries of the fellow whose voice proclaimed him as being the leader of the attacking squad.
"Pull him off, there, can't you?" he yelled. "He's hugging me like fun, and got his long arms twisted around my neck. Hi, there! somebody give him a jerk before he chokes me! Knock him in the ribs, and make him let go, fellows!"