that light. Each was supposed to
take the jokes played on him and without losing his temper. As a rule
each one did, though Chunky seemed to get more than his share of such
abuse. Perhaps he brought his troubles on himself.

"Well, if I am going to have charge of you, Stacy, I think I'll take
you out in the woods where you can't do any damage to any one but
myself. Bring your gun and we'll go shooting."

"My rifle?"

"No. Your pistol."

"That suits me. I am too delicate to tote a rifle around on my shoulder
all day."

"Be back early, and do not go far away," ordered the professor.

"Shoot off a rifle if you want us before we get back," suggested Tad.

"Which way are you going?" asked Ned.

"South. Which way do you go?"

"I guess we will go west if you are going south. I want to get a good
distance away if you fellows are going to shoot at a mark."

"Come on, Stacy."

The fat boy and his companion strolled off. They were going to take
their ponies, but the professor had decided against this, fearing that
the boys would stray too far from camp were they to ride. Being on
foot he felt reasonably certain that they would not get far away,
knowing how averse they were to walking, which is usually the case
with those used to riding a horse. A cowboy will mount his pony if
he wants to go across the street, just the same as a fire chief will
get into his buggy if he goes to a fire on the same block.

Stacy and Tad engaged in a friendly conversation on the way out. Tad
was giving his companion some advice. They were talking seriously and
for a wonder Stacy was giving serious consideration to what Butler
was saying.

They had been going along aimlessly for nearly an hour, halting now
and then to sit down on a rock or a log, when Stacy paused, looking
about him curiously.

"Isn't this the place where we were shot at last night?"

"Yes, this is the place, I guess," answered Tad, looking about him
inquiringly. "Over yonder is where we were stationed. Let's go over
and look about a little."

Stacy was willing, so they strolled over. Tad sat down, a thoughtful
look on his face, taking a survey, forming a mental picture of the
scene as it had appeared during the bloodless battle with the border
bandits.

"According to my idea those fellows must have fallen into a hole in
the ground about where that tree is down," declared Stacy wisely.

"That is my idea too," answered Tad. "I can't understand ho