"But—gosh! he might have a gun!" suggested Bandy-legs.
"Let's hope not," Max went on, cheerfully; "because that would be unfair, as we've left all our shooting-irons in camp. Anyhow, it might pay us to put a bold face on the matter. So come along, Bandy-legs."
"W-w-who's afraid?" gurgled the other, trying to look and act like his chum, though the effort was not wholly a success.
Accordingly the two boys advanced straight toward the clump of bushes bordering on the camp trail, and which were overrun by the luxuriant vine.
"There he is again, Max!" hissed Bandy-legs.
"Yes, I see him; and I reckon now that it's only that half-grown boy again, after all, Bandy-legs."
The other gave a sigh, perhaps of relief.
"Guess you hit the nail on the head that time, when you said what you did; because it's sure enough no big-bearded man waiting to hold us up. Wonder what he wants with us, Max?"
"Don't you see he's beckoning right now?" asked the other, in a puzzled tone.
"That's right; but please go slow, Max."