"Sit up, but don't try to get up any farther unless you want to feel this stake, which is tougher than those other steaks!" Prescott kept nimbly out of reach of the other's arms, though he took pains to keep himself where he could jump in with a handy blow at need.
"Now," remarked the high school boy, "you are getting an idea as to who's boss." "Well, what do you want ?" asked the other sullenly.

He had already drawn down a tattered, battered old cap so that it screened his face.
"I want to get a better look at you," Prescott replied.

"I want to be able to know you anywhere.

Tan colored woollen shirt; brown corduroy trousers; low-cut black shoes; cap defies description.
Now, let me see your face." With that Dick bent quickly, picking up an oil-soaked bunch of faggots that he had prepared before the others had turned in for the night and dropped them upon the campfire.
Like a flash he was back, close to the stranger.

"Don't you dare try to get up!" Dick threatened, swinging the club.
"Hit me, if you dare!" leered the other.