“What’s dat?” roared McCord furiously, as he wheeled on the tramp. Already Mullin and Billings had made a rush at Dick and Brad. “Drat you!” grated Bingo. “What do you mean?” “I always like to see fair play,” declared Hoboson. “It ain’t fair for four gents to jump on two boys.” Furious with rage, McCord tried to hit the hobo. He struck at Hep’s face with his left, but the man dodged and Bingo’s fist passed over his left shoulder. Quick as a flash, Hoboson reached up behind his neck with his right hand and grasped McCord’s wrist. With a sweeping swing he sent Bingo McCord sailing through the air in a half circle, and flung him at least thirty feet away into some bushes by the roadside. “I am with you, boys,” cried the hobo, as he turned and sprang to the assistance of Dick and Brad, who were having their hands full. In the bushes, with his shoulder twisted out of the socket, Bingo McCord rose, groaning, to his knees, and heard his companions shouting cries of dismay. Merriwell and Buckhart were astounded by the manner in which Hoboson sailed into the two thugs. He struck Mullin and sent the fellow flying. Then he seized Billings and hurled him through the air. After rising to his feet, Mullin lost no time in taking to his heels, and Billings was not slow in following him. Already McCord had floundered out of the bushes, and, realizing his own helplessness, he dodged away into the darkness. Hoboson stood with his hands on his hips, chuckling softly to himself. “What does this mean?” asked Dick, in surprise. “That’s whatever I’d like to know,” said Buckhart. “It means,” said the tramp, “that some tough characters planned to eat you up, but made a slight mistake by taking me into the game.” “Who are you?” asked Merriwell. “I am a knight of the road. I am a preambulator of the highways. In other words, boys, I am what is disdainfully called a hobo.” “I don’t understand it at all,” again declared Dick. “Then I will clear up the haze,” said the tramp. “In this town there’s a gent by the name of Fernald who has it in for Brad Buckhart.” “And I’m Brad Buckhart,” muttered the Texan. “Was Fernald behind this business?” “Sure as shooting. He put up the job and engaged the gang to do you dirt. By chance, while pretending to take a nap in the Corndike barroom, I heard him talking it over. It interested me, and I decided that I would have a finger in the fun. That explains why I am here.” “Well, we owe you thanks!” cried Dick, extending his hand. “What can we do for you?” “If you git hard up for a rattling good ball player and a wizard behind the bat, don’t forget Hep Hoboson,” said the tramp. “Are you a ball player?” “Am I? You bet your wealth I am! I am a wonder!” “Sorry,” laughed Dick; “but we don’t need any one just at present.”