He busied himself in that way, while Dick started slowly, very painfully, down the road. Only a step at a time could he go. Greg, returning, ran after him, but Prescott sent him back, so Holmes stretched himself on the ground near the fire. At times Dick found he could move about very easily. Then the hip would stiffen and he would be obliged to lean against a tree for a few moments. For ten minutes or longer he moved thus down the road. "I'd better be getting back soon, I guess," he mused, "or I may find it too much of a job." Looking back, as he turned, he could just make out the glow of the fire, very dim, indeed, from where he stood. "I've got a beacon," smiled Dick, as he rested against a tree trunk just off the road. He was about to take a step when a figure glided stealthily by. "By all that's astonishing, it's Tag Mosher!" Prescott gasped. He clutched at the tree trunk again, watching, for Tag had halted and appeared to be peering hard through the foliage at the fire some distance away. "I wouldn't want him to find me, now!" thought Dick, a cold chill running over him at the thought of Tag's desperate savagery. But at that moment Prescott accidentally made a sound, which, slight though it was, caught young Mosher's ear. In a twinkling Tag wheeled about, listening, peering. Then, straight toward Prescott he came. "Oh, it's you, is it?" demanded young Mosher harshly. "Yes," Prescott admitted, speaking as steadily as he could, though his heart sank for the moment. He knew that Tag would have time to give him a beating that would be doubly severe in his present condition of weakness and pain. That beating could be given in a few swift seconds, and the help within reach of Dick's voice could not arrive until young Mosher had had time to slip away among the trees of the forest that he knew so well. "What do you want with me?" demanded Tag, bringing his leering face closer to Prescott's. CHAPTER XIV THRASHING AN AMBULANCE CASE! "I want you to stand right where you are until some of my friends come," Dick made answer. Then he braced himself for the violent assault that, he felt, was sure to come. To his intense astonishment, however, Tag heaved a sigh of dejection, then muttered: "I may as well do it. You owe me a grudge, anyway, and you've got the upper hand this time." What on earth could it mean? For a brief instant Dick almost believed that the exciting incidents of the night had been but parts of a dream. But he raised his voice to shout: "Dave! Oh, Dave! Come here! You, too, Greg." "Coming," came the call, in Darry's voice. The sound of running feet sounded on the road. Tag Mosher glanced uneasily about, as if meditating flight. Then his keen eyes scrutinized Prescott's face. "What's up?" demanded Dave, as, even in the darkness he caught sight of another figure. "Darry," smiled Dick, "I wish to present my friend, Mr. Tag Mosher."