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TREACHERY IN THE CAMP
37

to one, and while they struck back whenever possible, the one thought in their minds was escape.

"Cut it!" shouted the one who seemed to be a leader.

"Don't let them get away! Take 'em prisoners!" whooped a tall lad, who was doing his share of the mauling.

But that was easier said than done. The now sadly demoralized enemy scattered in every direction, some running wildly down the road, and others vanishing in the darkness of the wood.

"They're gone!" cried Lanky Wallace, in disgust, as he found that the fellow he had embraced was no other than his fat friend, Buster Billings.

"Let me go, hang it! You've squeezed the last breath out of me! I'd had that dub, only for your interference. Such rotten luck!" gasped the stout one, as he shook himself free from Lanky's encircling arms.

Frank was at the side of the boy they had rescued just in time.

"How is it, Ralph, did they pummel you hard?" he asked, solicitously.

"I gave 'em more than I took; but my head sings a bit from the nasty knock that sneak Asa Barnes gave me from behind!" replied the other.

"From behind!" echoed Lanky, indignantly; "well, wouldn't that jar you some now? But what