"Let's run, and shout to try and scare the bird off!" suggested the other loyal chum of the reckless Lanky.
"Wait! There's Zander with his gun, Frank. I guess he's got the number of that bird's mess, all right."
Paul had hardly spoken when there came the sharp report of a rifle. Frank, to his great joy, saw the angry vulture fall over and kick as though its finish had indeed come with the pressure of Zander's fore-finger on the trigger.
"Bully! Bully!" shouted the relieved Paul. "He cooked that old fighter's goose for him all right! Now Lanky's managed to get his leg free, and is coming back to camp, carrying the rope and the antelope hide. His little game worked all to the good, but took a turn he didn't count on. See him limp, will you? That left leg feels sore, I bet you!"
"I reckon it serves him about right, as his dad will tell him," observed Frank. "Of all the fool tricks I've ever known that boy to try out, this wanting to lasso a live vulture takes the cake! Most people wouldn't want to touch the horrible things with a ten-foot pole."
Lanky looked foolish as he reached the place where Jerry had a little cooking fire burning, although he grinned, and tried to pass the whole thing off as a mere incident.
His father said nothing to him just then. But Frank and Paul knew that in the end Mr. Wallace would have a confidential talk with his son, in which Lanky would "eat humble pie," admitting that his had been a silly scheme that gave him only what he deserved.
Jerry managed to broil enough of the antelope meat for all, even though the three boys did come back repeatedly for further portions, things tasted so good to them.
Mr. Wallace understood, for he had eaten in the open many times himself.