“Did we muss you up as much as that?” demanded the boss tramp.  “It serves you right, then.  You shouldn’t have meddled in our pastimes.  Maybe it was all right for you fellers to get your horse and wagon back this morning, but you shouldn’t have meddled to-night.”

“I guess maybe that’s right,” nodded Darrin sulkily, “but you went in too strong in getting even.  You had no call to cripple us for life.”

“Oh, I guess it ain’t as bad as that,” muttered the boss tramp, though there was uneasiness in his voice.

So the tramps sat and smoked about a fire that one of their number had lighted.  Another fifteen minutes went by.

“Come, it’s time for you fellers to get busy, and give us something—–­songs, dances, comic recitations, or something like that.  That’s what we brought you here for,” declared the boss, rising and prodding Darrin with one foot.

But Dave gave forth no sign.  His eyes were half open, yet he appeared to see nothing.

“Here, what have you been doing to my friend?” demanded Dick, crawling as if feebly over to where Darry lay.  “Great Scott!  You haven’t injured him, have you?”

Dick acted his part as well as Dave did, but the boss tramp was not inclined to be nervous.

“No,” he retorted shortly.  “We haven’t done much to either of you young fellers not a quarter as much as we’re going to do if you don’t both of you quit your nonsense soon.  Help ’em up, now.”

Dick allowed himself to be lifted to his feet and supported in a standing position by one of the most powerful-looking of the tramps.  Darrin, however, continued to act as if he were almost lifeless.

“Give him the water cure,” ordered the boss tramp, in an undertone to one of his confederates.

Going to the peddler’s wagon the one so directed took down a pail.  He went off in the darkness, but soon came back with a pail of water.  Slipping up slyly, he dashed the water full in Darry’s face.

With a gasping cry of rage Dave Darrin started to spring to his feet.  Then, remembering his part, he sank back again to the ground.

“Raise him,” directed the boss tramp.  “He’ll find his legs and stand on ’em.  We are not going to let this show wait any longer!”

So Dave was roughly jerked to his feet.  He swayed with pretended dizziness, next tottered to a tree, throwing his arms around it.

“You start something!” ordered the boss tramp of Prescott.

Feeling that now the chance might come for both of them to make a break for liberty, Dick answered, with a sheepish grin: 

“If I can get wind enough I’ll see if I can do an Indian war song and dance.”

“Go ahead with it,” ordered the boss.  “It sounds good.”

Once, three or four years ago, Dick had heard and seen such a war song and dance done at an Indian show in the summer time.

“I’ll see if I can remember it,” he replied.