“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Conyers doubtfully. “I’m sorry the point has been raised. Our boys are of course no better than their old persecutors. But I’m sure they are no worse. They were all getting together in a decent form of amusement. This may break ’em apart again.”
Just then the report spread through the camp that the table factory owner had notified the Coyotes that he had decided to give them a hundred dollars if they won the contest.
“That settles it,” exclaimed Mr. Conyers. “This thing has gone far enough. That kills every Boy Scout idea included in the game. We ought to force the Wolves to withdraw.”
“Hain’t the Mama Boys got any friends?” shouted some one in the crowd of Coyote adherents just at this moment. “Be easy with ’em, Hank!”
Mr. Trevor, exasperated but showing a smile, looked at Mr. Conyers, whose face was flushed with anger.
“I’m done,” Connie’s father snapped. “I can see some one’s going to be better off for a good licking. Let ’em fight it out.”
Out of the crowd the umpires were soon selected: Mr. Addington, Sammy’s father, for the Wolves; Engineer Gamage of the table factory for the Coyotes; and Professor Souter of the high school, who was agreed upon by the other two. Sharply at nine o’clock all the Coyotes were coralled in the guest tent with the Wolves, the instructions were again repeated, each boy placed on his honor as to his own conduct and also about receiving information or help from outsiders—the latter condition suggested by Mr. Trevor. Then the three umpires set out with the ten eager Wolves and escorted the first “hide outs” down the pike and beyond a bend in the road. In ten minutes the committee was back in camp with its secret list of the number assigned each Wolf. The band played, spectators scattered to left and right better to see the coming get-away, the Coyotes lined up on the smooth, dusty pike, and with a shout of “Go!” at nine thirty o’clock a quick cloud of dust told that the fight was on.
No word from the field reached the camp until a few minutes after ten o’clock. Then Buck Bluett, his face aglow, suddenly rushed into camp from up the river, and pausing only a moment at the umpires’ station, panted:
“Number ten, Bill Bonner.”
As none but the committee knew whether this was right or wrong the cheering meant nothing. Buck was off along the pike after a new victim. There was some surprise that Bonner was so easily detected. By eleven o’clock four other Coyotes had reported to the umpires. Job Wilkes registered number nine as Wart Ware, discovered on the top of a windmill when his hat blew off, by Job, who immediately ascended the tower and caught the Wolf’s number. Joe Andrews caught Sammy Addington in a hole in the gravel pit and announced him as number two.