Frank appeared in view, and not alone.
He carried the loaf of bread under his arm, but his other hand was twisted in the shirt collar of a small boy, writhing and twisting in his grasp.
"Say, he's got him!" shrieked Will in delight. "Oh! if you would only let me get my camera out and snap you off that way, Frank!"
"Talk to me about quick action!" sang out Jerry. "That pard of mine has them all beat to a frazzle. Lightning isn't in it with him, fellows."
Frank came forward with his unwilling captive. It was noticed that he made no attempt toward hurting the boy, save that he held him in a grip that nothing could break.
"How's this?" exclaimed Jerry, looking again. "Don't appear to be any of that measly crowd Pet Peters trains with. Can this be the terrible ghost of Oak Ridge?"
Bluff burst out into a roar.
"Say, I know that shaver, all right! It's Jed Prouty!" he declared.
"And who might he be when at home?" asked Frank, still holding onto his prize.
"Know old Farmer Dobson, Jerry? Well, this is his bound boy. I saw him working when I went out to carry a message from dad, and I felt sorry for any chap who had to knuckle down under that old skinflint and tyrant. Say, I bet you he's run away!"