charge, after all our trouble. Just think up something or other, Chief. Never like to come in empty-handed, after startin' out for game," persisted the other officer, stepping around so as to cut off any possible flight, should the tramp dream of attempting it.
Frank nudged his chum.
"Come on; now's the time to say a good word for Bill," he remarked.
Upon which the two boys showed themselves.
"Hello! Chief!" cried Frank, cheerily, as he skated ashore, and advanced near the campfire of the tramp.
"Why, if it ain't Frank Allen! What's the good word, my boy?" asked the stout official, who regarded Frank as the finest boy in all Columbia.
"We've been up-country at the new Baxter farm, and had the pleasure of helping to put a fire started by the very rascal you're looking for. Bill Brockholt. Not only that, but we helped chase after him until he dropped the clothes he was carrying off to make use of in changing from his striped convict suit. He was just what they described him in that circular, a foot shorter than this man, and with a smooth face."
Bill had stepped forward while Frank was talking, and the boy, who had purposely mentioned that name, saw the start he gave.
