"Tom, you and Dave pursue a little way and travel like lightning," ordered young Prescott. "The rest of you pick up stones! Fast! Come along now."
On reaching the highway the driver was forced to make a little turn in order to cross the bridge, in case he decided to travel in the direction that the boys had been going. So Dick dashed ahead, hoping to profit by the one chance he saw.
Just as luck would have it, the tramps turned in the right direction. The horse, galloping fast under the lash, struck his forefeet on the bridge.
Whack! clatter! plug! Four high school boys, all of them baseball players and proud of their straight throwing, sent a small shower of rocks whizzing through the air.
These struck the bridge planks well ahead of the horse.
"Stop—-or the next ones will hit you!" shouted young Prescott.
Just by way of suggestion he threw one stone that flew by within a foot of the nearer tramp's head. Holmes duplicated the throw.
"Stop that!" yelled one of the tramps, but he brought the horse to a standstill.
"Don't you throw any more stones!" yelled the tramp, as he saw the four ball players poised ready for more work in that line.
"Then hold the horse where he is until we come and take him," ordered Dick.