"How 'bout you, ole feller; don't you jine us in this game?" asked the thin tramp, a little suspiciously.
"Sure I do," returned Dolph, with ready assurance; "but there ain't no need of the whole three of us goin' out to carry one feller here. 'Sides, you remember I got a mighty sore heel after my long walk."
"But—yuh ain't agoin' tuh clear out an' leave us?" questioned the tall hobo.
"Well, what sort of crazy questions are ye askin'? I'll stay right here, an' wait for ye to fetch the feller back. Then leave it to me to work him for the stuff. I'm some good at that sort o' thing, I reckon," and Dolph grinned in their faces.
"So yuh are, Dolph, so yuh are," replied Simsy. "What say, Pete, do we start out to do the great rescuin' act, and bring the poor bubble wagon fool here to get bleeded?"
"Ho! I'm willin' if yuh say so, Simsy," replied the fat tramp, promptly, the prospect of gain acting as a lure in his eyes that outweighed all other considerations.
Elmer had listened to all this with the utmost eagerness. One minute he fancied that the lovely little trap he had baited so cleverly was about to work; and then again he found himself beset with fears that it had been all for naught; and that if the alarmed tramps made up their minds to flee, Dolph would decide to accompany them, which in turn meant that little Ruth must be spirited away, and another long chase follow.
But, after all, it seemed now that things were moving along nicely. Dolph could be thanked for greasing the ways, though of course the fellow never dreamed how he was riding to a fall in doing so.
"Come along then, Pete; we'll take a look in at thet squaller, an' see how bad he's hurted."
The tall tramp made for the near-by door of the log cabin while speaking, and his fat mate trotted at his heels, for all the world like a little dog—but an ugly bulldog at that, for he had the face of a ruffian, did Pete.