"Not for me!" announced the fat boy firmly, sitting down on a lichen-covered rock. "This cold rock shall jump out of his pit sooner than I, and don't you forget that for a moment!"
"Oh, come along," begged Tad.
"No, sir. I'll ride, if the rest do."
"You can't ride where we are going," replied Cale.
"Then I don't go."
No amount of urging would induce the lad to change his mind, so they decided to go on without him. Charlie John would be in the camp all day, so Cale said it would be all right for Chunky to remain. He warned the half-breed to see to it that Master Stacy did not stray from camp, knowing full well that the fat boy would lose himself were he to get ten rods from the camp.
Stacy did. Not once, but six times before noon did he lose himself. Fortunately he had not strayed far. His yells reached the ears of the Indian, who, with many grunts of disapproval, stalked out and brought the lost boy back to camp, sternly ordering him to remain there. But Chunky was stubborn. He was determined to go out and back freely and try to find his way. That was why he became lost so many times. The noonday meal was the only thing that caused him to change his mind.
After dinner, while Charlie John was washing the dishes and stowing the food, Stacy began rummaging about the camp.
All too soon this occupation proved uninteresting to one who possessed Chunky's energy in finding useless things to do with all his might.
"Even sleeping will be more fun," decided the fat boy. So he vanished behind the flap of his tent and lay down. His snoring, however, soon proved altogether too much for even the placid nerves of an Indian to endure. Charlie John stole in soft-footed, shaking the youngster, then drawing him to his feet.