"Anyhow," said Chester, "we're not likely to find out what it's all about until he gets good and ready to tell us."
"You're right, there," returned Hal. "He can be as mum as an oyster when he wants to. Well, old boy, I'll leave you alone now and go out and look around a bit. Maybe I can stumble on this conspiracy Stubbs talks about."
"You mean the one he won't talk about," said Chester with a smile. "All right. Go ahead. I'll take a little snooze."
He rolled over on his side as Hal left the tent.
How long Chester slept he did not know, but it was dark in the tent when he opened his eyes.
"Wonder what can be keeping Hal?" he muttered to himself.
He had hardly had spoken the words when a form came through the entrance to the tent. Chester was about to speak, for he thought at first that it was Hal, but something seemed to tell him to remain silent. The lad, therefore, said nothing.
At second glance Chester realized that the figure that had entered the tent was not Hal. Neither was it Stubbs.
"Great Scott!" muttered the lad to himself. "Wonder who he is and what he wants here? He hasn't seen me though. Guess I'll wait and see what happens."
The lad stretched out a hand carefully and drew toward him a camp stool upon which he had laid his clothes before going to bed. Without a sound he secured one of his revolvers and straightened to a sitting posture.