In less than thirty seconds the invaders had been cleared away. They fled in screaming panic, scattering in all directions, some of them being pursued and lashed for a distance of many rods up or down the road.
On all sides the fleeing wretches threatened their persecutors with the law, but these threats did not stop the punishment.
"I guess it's all right now, boys!" called Farmer Hartshorn grimly, as he strode up to the place where Dick & Co. had gathered just beyond their tent.
"What was that mob, anyway?" Dick asked.
"A gang that came after revenge for what you did to Miller to-night," laughed the farmer.
"I thought as much," muttered Dick.
"They've been gathering at Miller's, and other like places, for a couple of hours," Mr. Hartshorn went on. "But, as is the case with all such movements, some news of it leaked outside. We got word a bit late, or we'd have been here before that crowd came along. When we knew the word was straight some of us telephoned to others, and our crowd was gotten together, but as it is, we got here in season. Are any of you boys hurt?"
"No, sir; not one of us," Dick declared. "But some of us might have been seriously injured if you gentlemen had been delayed for another minute."
"We'll know the rascals to-morrow," spoke up another of the rescuers.
"If they appear on the streets at all they'll be recognized.
We have marked them up pretty well. They've gone off vowing
to have the law on us."
"All they'll do will be to put arnica on themselves," declared Mr. Hartshorn. "And they will send friends to the drugstore for the arnica. They won't take the risk of being recognized on the streets. They'll be a shame-faced lot in the morning."