"Of course the fellow will call and tell us where he is!" jeered
Darry.
"We won't hurt you—-won't try to," Dick promised solemnly, again sending his voice as far as he could make it travel. "All we want to do is to talk to you—-and we're friends honestly!"
"Say, what are you trying to give that thief?" protested Tom, in an indignant undertone.
"Why are you telling him we're friends, and won't hurt him?" insisted
Dave Darrin.
"Because I mean just what I say," retorted Prescott, so crisply that, for the moment, no one pressed him with any more questions.
Dick continued his calls, but received no response.
"By this time that fellow's a mile from here, and still running," mocked Dave.
"Or else he doubled on us, somewhere, and is hidden where he can watch us, and laugh at us slyly," suggested Tom, as the three high school boys turned to walk back to camp.
"If he's hiding on our trail, the thief had better not let me catch him laughing at us!" growled Darry indignantly.
"Now, see here, both of you," Dick Prescott went on, earnestly.
"If we come across that fellow, don't either of you make a grab
at him. Just let me handle him—-and I'll do it by talking alone.
We mustn't use our fists."