"Why, that's a half a ham!" ejaculated the astonished Bandy-legs.
"Our h-h-ham, in the b-b-bargain!" shrilled Toby.
"Just what it is," Max continued; "you see, the rascal had actually stolen it, and was making off when he saw Steve below, and got angry. It came mighty near hitting our chum on the head, which would have floored him good and hard. So he was lucky to escape as he did."
"And we're lucky to get our ham back!" Bandy-legs argued, as though after all that were the main point—which from a boy's standpoint it certainly was.
Meanwhile Steve had dodged under the canvas, and presently reappeared, also swathed in his blanket. He was still too much excited to think of sleeping, and consequently meant to stand it out with the rest. Perhaps curiosity had also something to do with the matter, for he would wish to know what Bandy-legs and Toby thought about the species of animal that had carried their smoked meat off.
Their tongues did certainly wag at a great rate for a spell. All sorts of suggestions were made, some of them fairly good, and others bordering on the ridiculous. Toby was for believing that it must have been a tiger, or at the very least one of those terrible spotted leopards they remembered seeing walking up and down in its cage, as though always hoping to get out to its missing mate.
"And they s-s-say leopards have got the w-w-worst k-k-kind of tempers," he insisted, when some of the others threw doubt on this idea.
"Well, whatever it is," Max concluded, "it acted like it was mad at Steve here for walking in his sleep."
"Don't blame the critter much, either," muttered Bandy-legs; "because any feller that would be guilty of doing such monkey-shines ought to have a whole ham flung at his head every time."
"Hold on there," said Steve, sharply; "that's always the way with you fellows. Why, you ought to be voting me a bunch of thanks right now, instead of hauling me over the coals like you're doing."