at my horses have had, and also for my
entertainment. Dodge, I don't believe you're really worth an
ounce of soda crackers, but I realize that you don't feel as bright
as usual, so I'm going to help you get the tires on your car."

Reaching up, the farmer untied one end of the line on which the
tires hung. Letting the tubes fall at his feet. The man then
drew a card out of his pocket and handed it to Reade.

"That will tell you who I am, if you ever want to find me," suggested
the farmer.

"George Simpson," said Tom, reading the card. "Mr. Simpson, we're
certainly glad of having had the pleasure of meeting you."

Reade thereupon gravely introduced the other members of Dick &
Co.

"Glad to have met you, boys," said Simpson, picking up the tires.
"Now, come along, Dodge and Bayliss, if you want my help, for
I really must be moving."

"This hasn't been such a dull evening, after all," jovially commented
Tom Reade, after the late visitors had vanished into the darkness
surrounding the camp.

"I'm sorry for the fighting, though," mused Dick aloud. "I don't
enjoy anything that makes bad blood, or more bad blood, between
human beings."

"You couldn't do anything else but fight," retorted Greg sharply.

"That's the only reason why I fought," Prescott rejoined.

Half or three quarters of an hour later two resonant honks sounded
from the red Smattach automobile up at the roadside. Dick & Co.
rightly judged that Simpson had taken this means of signaling
them that the Smattach car was ready to go on its way again.

"What's the matter with Mr. Simpson?" Tom demanded at the top
of his voice.

From the throats of all of Dick & Co. came the ready response!

"He's all right!"

Honk! honk! honk! Mr. Simpson had heard this tribute to himself.
Then the chugging of a starting car was heard. The noise soon
sounded fainter, then died away.

"That's the last of the firm of Dodge and Bayliss for this season!"
chuckled Dave Darrin.

In this conclusion, however, it was wholly probable that Darry
was wrong. He would have been sure of it, himself, had he been
privileged to hear the talk of Bert Dodge and his companion as
the enraged and humiliated pair drove swiftly over the rough road
on their way back to Gridley.

"I can't think of anything bad enough to call Dick Prescott,"
growled Bert, who sat at the steering wheel.

"Don't try to," grumbled Bayliss. "It would poison your mind."

"The mucker!"

"The sne