“Then why did you shoot? I told you to shoot if anything developed,” rebuked the guide.
“I didn’t say that I did shoot. However, for your own private ear, not for general publication, I’ll say I did fire a shot. What about it?” demanded the fat boy belligerently.
“Why?”
“Because some fellow was signalling us with small arms. Maybe some poor fellow is lost. I have a big heart, sir—I am full to overflowing with human sympathy, so I answered his shot.”
Hamilton White sighed. There was no answer that he could think of. Grace laughed at him, and the guide grinned appreciatively.
Hippy arrived safely at camp with the horses a few moments later, and was quickly informed of the cause of the shooting. Neither Hippy nor White liked the thought of revealing their presence, for they knew that peril might lurk in the big woods for the Overland Riders, and for that reason they regretted Stacy’s shot.
“Well, I reckon you ladies had better turn in. We three men must clean up the camp after the mussing it has had. How’s the cat?” asked the guide.
“He is a nice fat fellow, Hamilton,” bubbled Emma.
“And Stacy made a wonderful shot, didn’t he, Mr. White?” spoke up Elfreda enthusiastically.
“I always make wonderful shots,” boasted the fat boy. “Why, I could tell you of shots that I have made that you wouldn’t believe possible were anyone else to tell you the same story about himself.”