the tricks he pulled off the day we moved the stuff over from Fairview
on the donkeys--sneaked up in the bunk after dinner and went to sleep.
You know how we nearly locked him in. He's hurting our crowd.

"We took him in, you know, because Mr. Allen thought there was so much in
him worth saving. Someway, it hasn't come out yet, and we've got to
operate, do you understand? We've got to scare Sleepy Smith out of his
boots once or twice to see what's in him. Let's do it to-night. If we
don't, next time we bring a crowd up here on a night like this there will
be three or four sitting around the fire doing nothing, and the next time
six or seven, until at last a few of us will be waiting on the whole
bunch, do you see?"

"Yes, I see," replied Willis between chattering teeth; "but how on earth
are you going to do it a night like this, with all this crowd?"

"Now, I'll tell you just what I want you to do. I'll pull off the game
and you be my accomplice. We'll take Sleepy out for a snow-bird hunt. I
never heard of one myself, but I'll fix that all right. We'll scare the
life out of that boy this night or bust. All you have to do--there comes
some one."

"Ham, Ham!" called Fat from the cabin; "come on to supper while it's
hot." Then the door closed again. The two started toward the cabin,
leaving old Peanuts braying hoarsely in the night.

"All you have to do," continued Ham, "is to just swear to all I say.
You'll catch on after I get started. Be sure to watch for the chance.
I'll tell Fat the scheme, and if I can get Sleepy out of the house for a
minute, I'll fix it up with the crowd." They were just about to enter
the cabin when somewhere in the night came the weird hoot of an owl, and
a pale, sickly moon peeped between the clouds.

"Well, fellows, how do you like that old stone fire-box, anyhow?" Ham
questioned. "I haven't heard a fellow say a word about it yet. That big
black pot hanging on that crane makes me happy all over. Why, we have
Robinson Crusoe and that last polar expedition beaten a city block. I
never do see a pot hanging over the fire like that but I think of some
of the delicious stews that Jim Parker made for us the Christmas vacation
we spent with him out on his ranch in Middle Park. Snowbird stew good? O
my! It has turkey beaten a thousand directions."

"Snowbird stew?" questioned Chuck. "What in the world is it, Ham? Bacon
creamed, or some such stuff?"

"Bacon creamed, nothing," replied Ham disguste