White's would do because it's a much lighter
weapon than the other."

"And how about Davy Jones; he says he's just bound to get some pictures
of big-horns on their native rocks, or making some of those famous leaps
he's heard so much about; can he be one of the bunch, Thad?"

"Yes, but that is the limit. Three frisky scouts will be about all
that any one guide can keep tabs on, I rather think," replied the
other, smiling as he tried to picture Toby Smathers endeavoring to
hold the ambitious photographer, and the pair of would-be big-horn
hunters, in check; for he imagined the task might resemble a circus
feat of trying to drive half a dozen steeds at the same time.

When the plan of campaign for the day was made known, there was
considerable rejoicing, and a little grumbling. Of course the former
came from those who had been lucky enough to draw prizes; while the
discontent sprang from Giraffe, who had also cherished certain
aspirations, looking to a pair of elegant big-horns, to decorate his
den at home in Cranford.

But if Giraffe did occasionally show a spirit like this, the best
thing about him was the rapidity with which he got over the
"grumbles," as Step Hen called his little fits of the sulks. In five
minutes he had apparently forgotten his disappointment, and was
offering to loan Smithy his rifle, even before the scoutmaster had
mentioned anything about it.

However, it was judged too heavy for a greenhorn to pack around all
day; and in order that Giraffe might not feel offended, Thad smoothed
matters down, as usual, by administering a little dose of flattery.

"He's only a new beginner, Giraffe, and not used to toting a gun. Why,
his shoulder would be sore from carrying it all day. With an old hand
like you, it's a different matter; and I rather think that gun just
seems to fit into a notch on your shoulder, like it grew there. Now,
Bob's gun is much lighter; and with those mushroom bullets, the small
bore doesn't matter a bit. So we'll let him take that. Besides, if
anything happened here that spelled trouble, you'd feel pretty sore if
you didn't have your faithful old shooting-iron at hand."

"That's so, Thad; reckon you're just about right," said the tall
scout, instantly, quite mollified.

"And Bob's gun'll seem more like a playtoy to Smithy, too. I always
said mine was a man's gun; and when you pull the trigger there's bound
to be something doing."

In this clever way then, did Thad frequently