Tag was lowered down upon the blanket.

"Which foot is it?" asked Dr. Bentley.

"Left," replied Tag.

Dr. Bentley deftly removed the shoe, causing hardly more than a trace of pain. Tag insisted on raising himself on his elbow to look on. It was the first time he had ever been under a doctor's care.

d.i.c.k took one look at the wistful eyes of the father, as Mr. Page stood by the head of the cot, resting one hand on his supposed son's shoulder.

"Come outside, fellows," called d.i.c.k. "Doctor, we'll be outside if you want anything."

The onlookers in the tent started to go outside, except the father and the physician.

"Come back, Hibbert," called Mr. Page softly. "You've been at least a son to me during the last year. Now, remain and help me to get acquainted with my own son."

Tag was silent. He could take punishment, and Dr. Bentley was now hurting him quite a bit in his effort to get at the exact nature of the injury.

"Reade," called the physician, "start a fire in a hurry. Heat half a kettle of water for me as fast as you can. Prescott, run over to my camp and ask Mrs. Bentley for my emergency case, the two-quart bottle of bicarbonate of soda and a roll of four-inch gauze."

d.i.c.k sped toward the Bentley camp as though on wings. While Mrs.

Bentley was gathering the things for him the girls crowded about, asking eager questions about Tag, or Egbert Page, as he might prove to be. But d.i.c.k delayed to talk only until Mrs. Bentley had placed the desired things in his hands. Then he sped back, in time to hear the physician saying:

"Only a sprain. A painful one, to be sure. But this young man may be moved in an automobile in an hour or two. By to-morrow morning he ought to be able to get about with the aid of a crutch."

"In jail is where I'll do my moving about," grunted Tag.

"No matter where it be, my boy," protested Mr. Page, "if they lock you up they'll have to take me, too. Besides, I have money, and bail is possible."

"Bail?" repeated Tag. "Would you go my bail, and trust me not to jump it?"

"The Page honor would never permit you to jump bail," replied the old man, with simple but positive belief in his tone.

Hardly had Dr. Bentley finished dressing and bandaging the ankle than a new arrival appeared. Deputy Valden had dropped in, alone, to discover whether there was any news.

"You may wait, deputy, and go with us," declared Mr. Page, as though the sheriff's officer were some subordinate of his. "We will go to the jail as soon as my son is rested and is comfortable enough to be moved."

"Humph! I like that!" jeered the deputy. "This boy is my prisoner, and I'll take him when I please. See here, Tag, I don't want you faking any injuries as a slick way to-----"

"You get outside, my man!" broke in Detective Colquitt quietly, but he took hold of the deputy so forcibly that Valden was quickly on the outside of the tent.

"Now, you come along with me, my man," Colquitt continued, "and I'll tell you who's who. First of all, this boy is Mr. Page's son. Mr. Page can produce all kinds of money merely by signing a check. He is indignant with you, already, for maltreating his son when you had him under arrest at another time. Mr. Page may employ lawyers and bring proceedings to have you ousted from your job by the sheriff. You-----"

Here their voices died out in the distance, but Valden went along willingly enough. When the pair returned the deputy seemed to have lost his swagger.

"Doc, you've been good to me," said Tag at last, "and now I'll tell you how I came to hurt my ankle. You know, of course, that I visited one of your shacks and helped myself to some of your kitchen stuff. While I was there I came across a queer little black bag. I opened it, and found a whole lot of queer little bottles. Medicines, I guess, though I don't know, for I never had any. Then I came across one little bottle that I couldn't see inside of. I took out the cork, and inside I found some paper rolled up and tucked away. Two twenties were what I found. Money was just what I needed, to buy a railway ticket with, so I slipped the money into a pocket. Then I started off, but, Doe, that money got so heavy---so awfully heavy-----"

From there on Tag repeated the story he had told young Prescott.

During the recital d.i.c.k had stepped into the tent.

"I knew you had my money, my boy," smiled Dr. Bentley, "but I didn't say anything about it."

"You didn't start off to put the officers on my track?" demanded Tag incredulously.

"Not I," laughed Dr. Bentley. "I had a different idea. I suspected you'd buy a railway ticket. This evening I had intended to drive, to a telegraph station and telegraph about until I found where and to what station a chap answering your description had bought a ticket. Then I would telegraph to the sheriff just where you were to be picked up as you left the train. I'll admit that I wasn't very anxious to turn you over to the law. What I wanted was to get on your trail, and then see you turned over to your father."

"You told me that Tag took a drug from one of your vials," d.i.c.k murmured, smiling.

"So he did," nodded the doctor. "Money is a drug in the market---in some places."

"What kind of places, sir?" Prescott inquired.

"Such places as the United States Treasury, for instance," laughed Dr. Bentley. "Or the National City Bank of New York."

Then turning to Mr. Page, the physician completed his explanation.

"Money is a strange thing perhaps, Mr. Page, to carry in a vial in a doctor's drug case. But sometimes, when I've been on the road, and a long way from home on the day's work, I've found that I needed money just when I least expected to want it. So, for some years, I've always had two twenty dollar bills tucked away in an opaque vial, where it would not be seen and invite theft.

I never told anyone what I carried in that vial."

What Dr. Bentley did not explain, however, was that, generally, when he wanted extra money, it was for some charitable work the need of which became apparent when he was visiting the sick and needy. The generous physician had many "free patients."

Some two hours later, Tag, his father, Hibbert, Colquitt and Valden started for the county jail in the big Page car. On the way they stopped at the home of Farmer Leigh, to which Dr. Bentley had gone ahead of them.

"Mr. Leigh is conscious and able to be seen," the physician reported to Detective Colquitt. "Bring your prisoner inside at once."

Then there came a dramatic surprise. Farmer Leigh, when confronted by Tag, positively denied that Tag was the one who had a.s.saulted him. Mr. Leigh, it will be remembered, was a newcomer in the neighborhood. He had never known Tag, but, after his injury, and before brain fever came on, the farmer had described his a.s.sailant, and that description had seemed to fit Tag Mosher to a dot. The real criminal, however, a young tramp some years older than Tag, was found later on, and punished according to law.

d.i.c.k Prescott was the only one of the high school boys on hand to see the clearing of Tag of the accusation against him. d.i.c.k had come along in Dr. Bentley's car.

"Prescott," whispered the physician, "slip downstairs. You'll find my car all ready. All you need to do is to press the starting b.u.t.ton. Drive over to Porterville and get Mr. James, the district attorney. Never mind if you have to drag him out of bed and thrash him into submission---bring him here as quickly as possible.

Don't fail, you understand."

With heart beating rapidly, but feeling wholly happy, young Prescott slipped downstairs and out of the house. A few moments later he was speeding over the lonely country road. At one o'clock in the morning he came back with District Attorney James, who heard Farmer Leigh's statement, reduced it to writing and had it signed under oath before many witnesses.

"Officer Valden," said the district attorney, "I authorize you to take your prisoner to Porterville, not to the jail, but to the Granite Hotel. As soon as court opens in the morning I will secure the formal discharge of your prisoner."

This was done. d.i.c.k, who returned to camp with Dr. Bentley just before daylight, did not see Tag released, but heard of it.

Proof came in rapidly after that to satisfy Mr. Page that "Tag Mosher" was his son Egbert. Best of all, even young Egbert himself was convinced.

Young Page underwent a speedy and complete reformation. Later he went to school to prepare for college. In time Egbert promises to be a strong man in his community and a force for good. Old Bill Mosher died soon after leaving jail.

Mr. Page tried hard to make d.i.c.k & Co. accept the offered reward of three thousand dollars, but neither the boys nor their parents would listen to any such transaction. d.i.c.k & Co. had done their duty in manly fashion, and that was reward enough.

Dr. Bentley's party broke camp a few days later. d.i.c.k & Co., however, remained for several weeks, training hard, putting on tan and muscle and fitting themselves to compete for places on the famous Gridley High School eleven in the coming fall.

Just what happened to our boys in the school year that followed will be found fully and thrillingly explained in the third volume of the "_High School Boys Series_," which is published under the t.i.tle, "_The High School Left End; Or, d.i.c.k & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron_."

The further vacation doings of these splendid American boys will be found in the next volume of this "High School Boys' Vacation Series." The book is published under the t.i.tle, "_The High School Boys' Fishing Trip; Or, d.i.c.k & Co. in the Wilderness_." Our readers will find it a story full of rousing incident, persistent adventure, delightful humor and absorbing human interest.