the grip of his hand on Teall's shoulder until the
boy squirmed.

"It's not a bit worse than what one of them did to me this morning,"
Ted asserted, strongly on the defensive now. "And I don't know
what business it is of yours, mister. Who are you, anyway?"

"My name," replied the other quietly, "is Amos Garwood."

"Amos Gar---wood?" Ted repeated. At first the name conveyed no
information to him. But suddenly he remembered the name that
had been on everyone's tongue a few days before.

"The crazy man?" cried Ted, his voice shaking. Then the woods
rang with his startled combination of whoop and prayer.

"This is no place for me!" gasped Teall huskily, as, frantically,
he tore himself free of that grip on his shoulder.

Without more ado Ted Teall broke through cover for the road.
Never before had he realized how fast it was possible for him
to sprint. Terror is an unexcelled pacemaker at times.

That whoop, followed by the yell of fear, traveled until it reached
the boys at the lakeside. The distance and the breeze must have
robbed the voice of some of its terror, for Dick sprang to his
feet like a flash.

"That was Ted Teall's fine voice!" he cried, running up the slight
slope. "Come on, fellows! We'll travel straight in that
direction---and we'll find our clothing."

Nor were any of the boys very far behind Dick in the mad race.
Though two or three of them stepped on stones on the way, no
one gave a thought to so slight an accident.

Nor was it long ere they burst from cover and came upon Amos Garwood,
standing as though lost in thought, for Garwood was trying to comprehend
Teall's words, "the crazy man."

All in a flash Dick recognized the man. So did his chums. Hi Martin
alone was in the dark.

"Good afternoon," was Garwood's greeting, as he looked up as
though coming out of a trance. "You are looking for your clothing,
I imagine?"

"Marvelous what a good guesser you are, sir," gasped Tom.

"You'll find your clothing in this thicket," announced Garwood,
indicating the spot with a wave of one arm.

Dick and Tom piled into the thicket, passing out the mixed-up
articles to the other boys. A quick sorting was made and each
item claimed.

"Say!" cried Hi, greatly disturbed. "There isn't a single thing
of mine here."

"Serve you right, then," uttered Tom, as he drew an undershirt
over his head. "You don't deserve anything to wear."

"You fellows didn't hand out my things," uttered Hi, darting into