He ducked his head just in time to avoid a stone propelled at his face by Rexford.
“Rah! rah! Hold on! We’re coming. Trouble, you say? Colby to the mix-up and the happy ending!”
“Come, Rexford! We’ve got to sprint,” advised the unknown.
Up the road the sound of charging feet came nearer. Rexford and his companion sprang into the woods, running as fast as they could go. But Halstead wisely concluded to remain treed until he beheld more than a dozen athletic looking young men under the tree. Then he slid to the ground.
“Did you call ‘trouble’?” demanded one of the newcomers.
“I did,” the young skipper admitted.
“Then hand over the goods! Show us the face of trouble, or take your punishment as a raiser of false hopes!” insisted the leader of the boys.
“And be quick about it. We haven’t seen any trouble in an hour,” proclaimed another of the boisterous crowd.
“Come into these woods with me,” begged Halstead. “Scatter and sprint. There are two men trying to get away—the rascals! If you can find them for me I’ll try to have them held by the police for assault.”
“What do they look like?”