“But you’re organizing it.”
“That doesn’t make any difference. Every fellow will pay his own way. We’ll just call it a gun club.”
But, in spite of Jack’s objection, when the organization was perfected a little later, every one thought of it as Jack Ranger’s club, even if they didn’t say so.
“Where could we go hunting?” asked Nat. “There’s no big game around here.”
“I guess you’re right,” admitted Jack, “but I know where there is some, and I’m going.”
“Where?”
“Out in the Shoshone Mountains, in the ‘bad lands’ district of Wyoming. There’s the finest hunting in the United States.”
“Hurrah for the gun club!” cried Nat. “I’m going, too.”
“Well, don’t leave me behind,” pleaded Sam. “I guess you can count me in.”