, a boy, at that, lay with the mother in the ranch cemetery.

Breakfast was ready for them, and what a glorious meal the boys made!
Just as Mr. Mabie had said, they proved as hungry as wolves. That clear
mountain air seemed to tone them up after their long railway journey,
and Frank laughingly declared their host had better send away for a new
stock of provisions if he expected to keep them satisfied.

Bluff was the first to leave the table. Frank had seen him eating
hurriedly toward the close of the meal. He knew without being told what
ailed his comrade.

"He'll never be happy until he gets it, fellows!" sang out Jerry, who,
of course, had also noticed the hurried departure of the anxious one.

They could hear Bluff tossing things around hurriedly in the other room,
where they expected to bunk, and to which the big trunk had been finally
carried.

Ten minutes later, Frank, remembering that a great silence had fallen
over the neighboring apartment, stole softly to the door and looked in.
He saw a picture of abject dejection there--Bluff sitting on the floor,
in the midst of piles of garments, clothes bags, and all manner of
things, frowning and shaking his head, as if he had lost his last
friend.

"What's the matter?" demanded Frank, drawing nearer.

"Matter enough," answered the disconsolate one, sighing heavily. "Why,
after all my trouble and everything, I've gone and left that knife at
home, and now my whole trip is going to be spoiled for me. I just seemed
to feel that something was bound to happen to upset my calculations. I
might as well go back, that's what," said Bluff, gritting his teeth in
his spasm of disgust.

CHAPTER IX

FRANK HAS HIS TURN

"Oh, humbug! There are other knives," remarked Frank cheerily.

"Not like that one," said Bluff dismally.

"No doubt Mr. Mabie will lend you a good one while you're here."

"Yes, he's awfully kind, but it wouldn't be that knife," groaned the
bereaved Bluff.

"When do you remember seeing it last?" demanded Frank, as a suspicion
darted into his brain that was connected with Jerry.

On one of their former camping trips Jerry had professed to entertain a
decided antipathy toward a repeating shotgun of modern make that Bluff
had bought. He declared that it was a shame for one who called himself a
sportsman to handle so destructive a weapon. When a chance came, he hid
the gun in a box that held some of their superfluous things. Later, upon
trying to