CHAPTER VII.
MAKING THE TRAMPS SQUIRM "You come back here!" screamed Danny Grin desperately.
"Haven't time now," called one of the tramps jeeringly, while his companion laid the whip over the startled horse.
With such a start as the tramps had they might be able to drive a mile ere the running boys could overtake them.
Besides, both law and custom forbade six boys clad only in bathing trunks from running along the highway.
"You'll find the wagon a few miles from here!" jeered the tramp who held the reins.

"We'll leave it when we're through with it.
We-----" But further words could not be heard for the wagon had vanished from view at a turn in the road between the trees.
"We're in a bad pickle, now!" gasped Tom Reade.
But Dick, studying the lay of the land with swift glances, saw just one chance.

If the tramps turned the horse in the right direction on gaining the highway----- Dick broke off his thoughts there.
"Tom, you and Dave pursue a little way and travel like lightning," ordered young Prescott.

"The rest of you pick up stones! Fast! Come along now." On reaching the highway the driver was forced to make a little turn in order to cross the bridge, in case he decided to travel in the direction that the boys had been going.

So Dick dashed ahead, hoping to profit by the one chance he saw.
Just as luck would have it, the tramps turned in the right direction.
The horse, galloping fast under the lash, struck his forefeet on the bridge.
Whack! clatter! plug! Four high school boys, all of them baseball players and proud of their straight throwing, sent a small shower of rocks whizzing through the air.
These struck the bridge planks well ahead of the horse.
"Stop---or the next ones will hit you!" shouted young Prescott.
Just by way of suggestion he threw one stone that flew by within a foot of the nearer tramp's head.