"Your supper is all ready," Dick announced.
"And I'm ready to meet any supper more than half way," Reade retorted.
"Just a minute, until I wash up."
The other five boys sat and chatted by the table while Tom ate.
"Dan, won't you throw a lot more wood on the fire?" asked Dick,
as the meal came to a close. "We ought to have the camp better
lighted than this."
Greg sprang to help Dalzell. Soon the flames leaped up, throwing
their ruddy, cheerful glow over the camp and making dancing shadows
beyond under the trees.
While they were still chatting over the day's doings, steps were
heard, followed by the arrival in camp of two rough-looking,
stern-faced men. Dave Darrin sprang to pick up a club.
"You boys haven't been doing anything wrong, have you?" questioned
one of the men, with a trace of a smile.
"Of course not," Dick indignantly replied.
"Then you needn't be afraid of us, though I admit that we do look
rough," answered the same man, displaying a badge. "We're officers
of the law."
"What can we do for you, sir?" Prescott inquired more respectfully.
"Do you boys know anything about Tag Mosher?" demanded the same
speaker.
"Son of Bill Mosher?" Dick counter-queried.
"The same. Know anything about him?"
"Nothing, except that he bothered us a good deal when we were
first camped here," Prescott replied.
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