The camp was in instant confusion. In their haste to prepare for action, the table was upset and its contents piled in a confused heap. Old Hicks was roaring out his displeasure, the foreman was shouting out his orders, while Professor Zepplin was seeking to make himself heard in an effort to give directions to his charges.
Suddenly the voice of the foreman was heard above the uproar.
"Hold on!" he shouted. "It's one of our own—it's———Oh, bah!"
"What is it? What is it!" cried Mr. Simms, unlimbering his weapon.
"It's Chunky," snorted Ned Rector disgustedly. "The fat boy has been falling in again or I'll eat mutton all the rest of my natural life."
"It sure enough is he," answered Tad, gazing off at the horseman who was riding at top speed and trying to urge his pony on still faster. "I wonder what he has been getting into this time. Hope it's nothing serious."
"Not to him, anyway, judging by the way he is riding," replied
Walter.
"Something has given him a mighty good start, anyhow," shrewdly decided the foreman.
"I know what it is—I know what he's in such a hurry about," said
Ned.
"What?" asked Walter.