The fellow in the red bathing suit descended to the edge of the water and plunged in without hesitation. Three others came running from the larger tent—a fat chap, a lean one, and the third almost as stocky as Red Phillips. Rex Kingdon could identify them all by what he had heard the night before.
After a minute a fifth youth appeared from the smaller tent, and by his look and dress Rex knew this last must be the Joe Bootleg with whom he had had the struggle.
"Five of 'em," said Peewee. "Even Stephen."
"We ought to be able to hold our own with that crowd," Red murmured.
"You can have my share of the Indian, Red," Kingdon drawled.
"Well, what are you going to do?" demanded Midkiff.
Only the tall fellow of the party of campers ventured into the water. The others dressed hastily, chattering excitedly the while. The tall fellow went ashore, stripped, rubbed himself down, and got into his own clothes leisurely.
"Well set up lad, that," Phillips said to Rex, admiringly. "He looks about your build, Beauty. Made of whipcord and wire cable, too. Notice those biceps when he put on his shirt?"
Red had been looking through the glasses, and forgot that the rest were not eagle-eyed. Hicks chuckled:
"If it comes to a rough-and-tumble, I choose the fat one for my meat. He must be so clumsy he can't get out of the way of his own feet."