Hen, looking back, saw Dick gaining on him swiftly, while Greg and Tom were just behind.
"They're mean as all-git-out!" sputtered panting Hen. "Why can't they let a fellow alone? Don't they think I've got as much right to talk as the rest of 'em? Well, I'll show 'em that I have!"
At this moment Dick overtook the fugitive, linking arms with him.
"You let me alone!" snarled Hen. "You're meaner'n poison!"
"Am I?" smiled Dick. "See here, Hen, face about and don't let the fellows bluff you out of a week's growth. Just turn on them. They won't do anything to you."
"If they try it on, I'll fix 'em, no matter what desperate thing I have to do to get square," snarled Hen.
"Oh, cut out all the war talk," Dick advised him gently. "Now, wheel about."
"You lemme alone! I know where I'm going," snapped Hen, making a big effort to break loose from Dick's hold. The effort proved a disastrous one, for Hen tripped himself, slid along for a few feet and then sat down with a jarring bump on the ice. Dick Prescott all but shared the same fate.
"Now, we've got him!" chuckled Ben Alvord, racing in and reaching out for the luckless Dutcher.
The unexpected happened. Hen swung around, as on a pivot, extending a foot in such a way as to trip Ben and send him down on his own face.