Ned was the only one who showed any surprise at the constable's action, and quite naturally, since he alone was acquainted with all the facts in the case. Hocker had already taken Moxley to the boat and seated him; the ruffian had lost his defiant manner, and was cowed and sullen. Jeffries now started to follow with Bug, but was stopped by a detaining touch on the arm.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jeffries," said Ned, trying hard to control his feelings, "but you surely don't intend to carry off Bug to jail after all he has done to-night? We owe everything to him."

Jeffries looked at the lad half sternly.

"Law is law," he replied in a pompous tone. "I am an officer of justice, and must do my duty. This fellow was clearly concerned in the theft of Mocker's gun and boat, and what he did before or after that don't wipe out the crime. Why, if I'd turn him loose now I'd be compoundin' a felony. Of course I'll speak a good word for him when he comes up for trial—I'll promise you that—and it may lessen his sentence."

"Jeffries is right," said the farmer. "If a man will commit crimes he must suffer for them. Both fellows air guilty, no doubt."

Bug threw a grateful glance at Ned, and then turned appealingly to Hocker.

"I don't deny that I was with Moxley when he broke into your cabin," he said huskily, "but I was only with him because I wanted to help these boys. I couldn't leave him without spoilin' my plans, and I couldn't persuade him to let the cabin alone, though I tried hard enough. He gave me the slip next morning, as it was, an' I had to tramp it down the creek the rest of the way. It's purty hard fer a feller to get into a scrape like this under them circumstances."

Hocker's face wore a perplexed expression as he replied slowly:

"I'm sure I don't know what to say. Jeffries has the law at his finger ends, and it ain't fur me to contradict him. I reckon things will have to take their course."

Bug's hopeless looks and attitude went straight to Ned's heart, and he resolved to make a final appeal in his behalf. He was satisfied that Hocker would help him if he could be made to see the matter in its proper light, so he drew him aside and told all he knew about Bug in a simple, earnest way—dwelling especially on the fact that Bug's desire to keep the boys out of a scrape was the sole cause of his own misfortune.

The appeal carried conviction with it, and Hocker's sympathies were aroused.

"I reckon I can fix this matter," he said after a little consideration. "I owe you lads something anyhow, and this is a good time to pay the debt."

Hocker was as good as his word. He walked over to the boat and surprised Jeffries by saying in a grave tone, "Look here, old man; I've sorter veered round on this thing. Now that I've got Moxley safe and sound I don't intend to prosecute the other chap. I reckon what he says is true, an' you know yourself what he did fur us to-night—more than you or me would have done. He deserves to go free."

"Well, if you're determined not to make a charge, why that settles it," replied Jeffries a little stiffly. "I have nothing agin him personally, and I hope he'll take warning by this affair and keep out of bad company."

He turned around and quickly removed Bug's handcuffs.

"You're a free man now," he said. "See that you stay free and justify the clemency of the law by leadin' a respectable life in future."

Bug was dazed at first by the unexpected transition from despair to hope. He stammered out a few inarticulate words of gratitude to Hocker and Jeffries and then approached Ned.

"This is your doin'," he said brokenly. "You saved me from goin' to jail. I shan't forget it—" He choked and broke off short.

Ned drew him down the wasteway to a little clump of bushes, out of earshot of the others.

"Bug," he said earnestly, "if you are really grateful to me for saving you from a term in prison, I'll tell you how you can prove it. Your brother told me the whole story of your life, and what a shadow it has cast on your home. You are breaking your mother's heart, and even your father feels the disgrace keenly, and would welcome you back if you came prepared to lead a different life. Go home, Bug, and make them all happy. You will never regret it if you do. You are not bad at heart, I know, and evil company has been the cause of all your trouble. Let Moxley's fate be a warning to you. Turn over a new leaf from to-night. Will you do it, Bug? Will you go straight home and lead an honest, respectable life?"

Tears were standing in Bug's eyes, and he brushed them away with his coat sleeve.

"I'll do it," he said in a firm, but husky voice. "I've been wantin' to go home fur a long time, but I didn't dare to. I'm sick enough of livin' in this way, an' what you've done an' said to-night will make a different man of me. I mean it all, and I'll stick to it. I'll do no more lyin' or stealin', and I'll keep away from bad company. I'll stay at home and work. Here's my fist on it."

Ned warmly shook the proffered hand, and then both went slowly back to the boat.

Bug's appearance was the signal for a most outrageous burst of profanity and threats from Moxley, and when Jeffries had finally subdued the ruffian by strong measures, the whole party crossed the wasteway, and moved up to the farmhouse, which was half a mile distant.

Mrs. Zinn spread a huge table with all sorts of tempting food, and the starved boys attacked it with a vigor that made her open her eyes in amazement. The others were almost as hungry after all they had gone through that night, and did ample justice to the viands. Moxley's bracelets were taken off and he was allowed to eat his fill with the rest.

It was four o'clock on Saturday morning before the tired crowd got to sleep. The four boys were given a room containing two large beds, and the adjoining apartment was occupied by Hocker and Jeffries, and their prisoner. Bug was accommodated with a cushioned settee in the kitchen.

The boys woke up, refreshed in mind and body, about three o'clock in the afternoon. They came down stairs just in time to see Hocker and Jeffries drive away in a buggy with the sullen faced prisoner between them. Hocker had made arrangements with the farmer to take the boat back to the cabin in a wagon.

Moxley had been compelled to disgorge his plunder, and the boys were highly gratified when Jeffries handed over the watches and money the tramp had so coolly taken from them.

Half an hour after the trio had departed for Carlisle jail Bug took an earnest farewell of the boys, and struck across the country in a bee line for his home at the Gap. His last word to Ned was a renewal of the promise to stay at home and lead an honest life, and Ned sincerely believed that he meant it.

"That load of salt I put into Moxley's legs turned out for the best after all," said Randy in a roguish tone. "If I hadn't pulled trigger that night Bug Batters would still be treading the path of wickedness, with no hope of a reformation."

"Your foolishness had one good result, I'll admit," replied Ned. "But don't try the experiment again. It's too costly."

The boys tacitly agreed with Ned. Even Bug's conversion was rather a high price to pay for the fright and indignities they had endured at the hands of Mr. Dude Moxley. They remembered also that the burning of the mill was indirectly due to Randy's foolish shot.

The certain prospect of the insurance money effectively silenced any resentment that Mr. Zinn might otherwise have felt toward the boys. He warmly invited them to stay over Sunday, and the invitation was promptly accepted. They went down after supper to examine the canoes, and allowed them to remain where they were on the farmer's assurance that nothing could happen to them. The grain bag containing the greater part of the baggage had been taken up the house the night before. The tin boxes had perished in the flames, but this was a trifling loss, and did not trouble the boys much in the light of what might have been.

Sunday was a day of peaceful enjoyment after the turbulent events of the past week.

"Three square meals were not to be sneezed at," as Randy irreverently expressed it; and not the least pleasing incident of the day was the five mile drive to a country church with the farmer's family, on which occasion Nugget braved the ridicule of his companions, and proudly wore his linen shirt and piquÉ vest.

Monday morning dawned clear as a whistle, and after a hearty breakfast the boys trudged down to the creek laden with all manner of country produce, for which the good natured farmer would accept only a beggarly recompense.

Half an hour later the gold and crimson pennant fluttered proudly in the breeze as it led the Jolly Rovers down the swift and turbid channel—for the creek was still a few feet above low water mark.