determined whether they were friends or enemies.

At last he saw a faint flicker of light.

"It's there," muttered the boy. "Now we'll see. I hope nothing has
happened to Ned. Still, he would have fired his revolver had he got
into trouble. He may be waiting for me down by the creek. But I must
find out what's going on here before I take time to look him up. I
hope the others don't come and blunder in."

Tad paused in his reflections as the sound of voices reached his ears.
Young Butler, crouching low, crept cautiously through the bushes, each
foot being placed on the ground as softly as an animal stalking its
prey could have done. Not a sound did the young woodsman make. Of
course his progress was slow, but it was silent, which was much more
to be desired.

Some fifteen minutes elapsed before Tad reached a point where he could
get a view of the fire. He was obliged to crawl some three or four
rods from that point ere he found a position where he could see the
men who were near the fire.

The first to attract Tad's attention was the mountaineer, squatting
down with head thrust forward, his rifle held across his chest, the
man's hand over the trigger-frame. Butler knew that the first finger
of the right hand was toying with the trigger. His glances followed
the direction indicated by the muzzle of the weapon. Then Tad's
face flushed hot all over. There, back to a tree, a rope twisted
twice about his body sat Ned Rector, defiance in face and eyes. Ned
was looking straight at his captor. The situation was strained. To
Tad, it was maddening.

"What is it you want me to tell you?" demanded the prisoner.

"I've told you that already. What are your orders?"

"And I have already told you, I have no orders from any one."

"How many are in your party?"

"Five, not including the horses."

"I wasn't asking about the cayuses. Who is in charge of you?"

"You wouldn't know if I told you."

"I'm asking you!"

"His name is Zepplin, Professor Zepplin."

"One of them scientific shooters, eh?"

"I don't know about his being a shooter. He is scientific, all right.
But what's that got to do with you and me?"

"Did this---this perfesser get his orders from Bill McKay?"

"I should say not," answered Ned with a mirthless laugh.

"Who was it you was to look up?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. Don't try to make a monkey of me. You'll be willing to
answer right smart after I've fanned y