"Oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that," muttered the boss tramp, though there was uneasiness in his voice.
So the tramps sat and smoked about a fire that one of their number had lighted. Another fifteen minutes went by.
"Come, it's time for you fellers to get busy, and give us something—-songs, dances, comic recitations, or something like that. That's what we brought you here for," declared the boss, rising and prodding Darrin with one foot.
But Dave gave forth no sign. His eyes were half open, yet he appeared to see nothing.
"Here, what have you been doing to my friend?" demanded Dick, crawling as if feebly over to where Darry lay. "Great Scott! You haven't injured him, have you?"
Dick acted his part as well as Dave did, but the boss tramp was not inclined to be nervous.
"No," he retorted shortly. "We haven't done much to either of you young fellers not a quarter as much as we're going to do if you don't both of you quit your nonsense soon. Help 'em up, now."
Dick allowed himself to be lifted to his feet and supported in a standing position by one of the most powerful-looking of the tramps. Darrin, however, continued to act as if he were almost lifeless.
"Give him the water cure," ordered the boss tramp, in an undertone to one of his confederates.
Going to the peddler's wagon the one so directed took down a pail. He went off in the darkness, but soon came back with a pail of water. Slipping up slyly, he dashed the water full in Darry's face.