n his chin.

"Perhaps you know Bat Spurgeon?" This was one of the two names that
Hippy had heard mentioned when he was the captive of the mountaineers.
The other name was Jed Thompson, the man, undoubtedly, on whose farm the
Overland Riders were then encamped.

A sudden change of expression flashed into the eyes of the "constable."

"So? You do know him, eh?" chuckled Lieutenant Wingate. Hippy drew his
own weapon from its holster, fingering it absently while frowningly
regarding the man before him.

"Why are you ruffians so eager to have us get out of the mountains? What
have we done to you that you should be so dead set on getting rid of
us?"

As before, there was no answer.

"I see it is useless to question you. Of course I could _make_ you talk,
and I would were there no ladies present to criticize my methods.
However, I am going to let you go. You go back to the fellow who sent
you here. Tell him for me that, if he bothers us further, we will take
matters into our own hands. As for you, you poor fish, if ever I see you
hanging about this or any other camp I am in, I'll shoot you on sight."

"Do it now while you have the chance," urged Emma.

Grace rebuked her with a stern look.

"I will give you ten seconds, after you have faced about, to get out of
sight in the bushes," resumed Hippy. "Turn around! Go!"

_Bang!_

Hippy fired a shot over the head of the mountaineer who had fairly
leaped for the bushes and disappeared in them.

"Quick! Follow him, darlin'. He may have other cartridges in his
pockets," urged Nora.

"Anyway, the joke is on us. We fed the man and put evidence against us
right in his stomach," wailed Emma Dean.

CHAPTER XVII

THE DANCE AT COON HOLLOW

Lieutenant Wingate, comprehending instantly, sprang into the bushes
after the man he had driven out of camp.

"Didn't I tell you to get out of here?" demanded Hippy, pointing his
revolver at the mountaineer, who had halted and was feverishly going
through his pockets in search of ammunition.

The man stood not upon the order of his going, and, to speed him up,
Lieutenant Wingate sent two shots over his head, following these up by
chasing the fellow clear out into the open field where the Thompson
cabin stood. The mountaineer made a quick run across the field,
zigzagging, expecting, undoubtedly, to hear a bullet whistle past his
head.

"Whew!" exclaimed the lieutenant, brushing the perspiration from his
forehead as he steppe