Dick sat up, regarding the visitors in silence until they came within the fringe of the light of the campfire.
"Hello, Dodge," was Prescott's ready greeting. "I didn't hear you knock."
"Then maybe you will, before long," retorted Bert, in a voice of barely suppressed fury. "Prescott, you sneak, how long since you have added grand larceny to your other bad habits?"
"Try that over again," requested Dick calmly. "I don't believe
I quite catch you."
"Yes, you do," Dodge retorted. "Come now, no lying about it."
"The nearest that I come to understanding you, as yet," Dick answered in an unruffled voice, "is that you appear to be trying to be offensive."
"I'll be more than offensive with you, before I get through!" cried Bert, his temper rising.
The third member of the visiting party was a man of about forty years, of sandy complexion and with a stubby, bristling red moustache. He looked like a man who had been born a fighter, though his face expressed keen attention rather than a desire to be quarrelsome. In dress this man looked as though he might be a farmer. Dick and his friends judged the man to be a rustic constable.
"A nice trick you played on us!" Bert went on angrily. "You took our front tires off the wheels of the car and ran away with them."
"Easy! Careful!" Dick smilingly advised. "Did anyone see us take the tires off and run away with them?"