“Perhaps we ought to step out right away, and let him know,” came from Allan.
“I should say, yes,” Giraffe went on, “I know for one I’d hate to be peppered with the loads he carries in that Marlin scatter gun of his. Hello! there, Bumpus, hold your fire. It’s your chums come to look you up.”
The four scouts had arisen to their feet, and were just about to push out from behind the fringe of bushes, in order to show themselves to Bumpus, when they were electrified to hear a voice, gruff and surly, and certainly not that of their jolly companion, call loudly:
“Jest hold up yer hands, you fellers, for we’ve sure got ye kivered!”
CHAPTER VII.
TURNING THE TABLES.
“What’s all this mean?” said Thad, laughingly, although he did not fail to do as he had been ordered.
Two rather rough looking men came out of the scrub, carrying guns which seemed to be handled rather carelessly, seeing that they were evidently ready for immediate use.
“Why, consarn it all, Pierre, they’re on’y a pack o’ boys arter all, and not sojers,” the larger man exclaimed, staring hard at the four scouts, some of whom wore various parts of their regular khaki uniforms, as well as the regulation campaign hat of the Boy Scout organization.
“Sacre! zat ees so,” the other man exploded, and Thad knew instantly from his name and manner of speech that Pierre must be one of those French Canadian half-breeds of whom he had heard so much.
“That’s just what we are, my friends,” Thad hastened to remark; “we belong to a Boy Scout troop in the East, and came out here to have a hunt in the Rockies. One of our number, a very fat boy, wandered off, and got lost in the big timber. We were following up his trail, and trying to locate him, when we discovered a camp-fire over here. So you see, we walked another mile just to give our friend a little surprise. But we hope you’ll let us take down our hands now, because it’s hard to hold them up like this.”