"I guess we will go west if you are going south. I want to get a good distance away if you fellows are going to shoot at a mark."
"Come on, Stacy."
The fat boy and his companion strolled off. They were going to take their ponies, but the professor had decided against this, fearing that the boys would stray too far from camp were they to ride. Being on foot he felt reasonably certain that they would not get far away, knowing how averse they were to walking, which is usually the case with those used to riding a horse. A cowboy will mount his pony if he wants to go across the street, just the same as a fire chief will get into his buggy if he goes to a fire on the same block.
Stacy and Tad engaged in a friendly conversation on the way out. Tad was giving his companion some advice. They were talking seriously and for a wonder Stacy was giving serious consideration to what Butler was saying.
They had been going along aimlessly for nearly an hour, halting now and then to sit down on a rock or a log, when Stacy paused, looking about him curiously.
"Isn't this the place where we were shot at last night?"
"Yes, this is the place, I guess," answered Tad, looking about him inquiringly. "Over yonder is where we were stationed. Let's go over and look about a little."
Stacy was willing, so they strolled over. Tad sat down, a thoughtful look on his face, taking a survey, forming a mental picture of the scene as it had appeared during the bloodless battle with the border bandits.
"According to my idea those fellows must have fallen into a hole in the ground about where that tree is down," declared Stacy wisely.
"That is my idea too," answered Tad. "I can't understand how they could have slipped by us as easily as they did."