When the crowd reached the camp of the high school boys all was silent there. From within the tent came the sounds of the heavy breathing of the sleepers.
"Everything is ready, and there isn't even a dog on the place!" was the exultant word passed back.
"Bunch up! Get in close and surround the tent," ordered another voice. "We want some of you men behind the tent, so that none of the youngsters can slip away from us. Come along, now. Don't talk! Don't make so much noise. Easy, now!"
Thus the figures continued to gather, like so many evil spirits of the night.
Here and there one of the rabble fell over something in the dark, or tripped over a root or stone as he moved about among the shadows.
In the intervals of absolute silence the steady breathing of the six Gridley High School boys could still be heard, until one man in the rabble, less sober than the others, fell over a packing-case, barking his shins and giving vent to a yell of pain.
"What was that?" asked Greg Holmes, waking and rising on one elbow.
Outside all was quiet again.
"Hey, Dave, get up!" Holmes called, shaking the arm of Darry, who lay asleep on the adjoining cot. "I heard something going on outside. We'll both get up, light a lantern, and——-"
"Yes! Get up and come out!" jeered a voice near the tent door. "Come out and have a look at us. The reputable citizens of Fenton are to chase you out of town—-and we'll do it, after we get through with teaching you manners!"