"I hope they do," laughed the guide. "No; Master Walter means Bud Stevens and the gang. Find us? Why, those fellows could trail a cat across the Desert Maze if they happened to take a notion to do so."
There being plenty of dry stuff about, the boys built up a blazing camp-fire as soon as night came on. Gathering about it they told stories and sang songs.
"I move that Stacy Chunky Brown favor us with a selection," suggested Ned. "He has a very rare voice—an underdone voice some might call it."
"Yes, Chunky," urged Walter. "You haven't sung for us since we started."
"Me? I can't sing. Besides it might scare the wild horses," protested Stacy.
"I guess there's no doubt about that. But we'll take the chances."
"Yes, do sing, Chunky," added Walter. "It may soften Ned's hard heart."
Stacy cocked an impish eye at Ned Rector.
"All right, I'll sing," decided the fat boy, clearing his throat.
"Stand up," thundered Ned. "Have some respect for the audience."