hem in the least, judging by the quality of
their snores.

Tad listened. Stacy Brown surely was having trouble of some sort. The
lad threw off his blankets and ran over to where his companion was
lying.

"Chunky's drowning," he exclaimed in a voice full of suppressed
excitement.

Big-foot leaped to his feet, hurrying to the spot.

Stacy was lying in a little depression in the ground, a sort of puddle
having formed about him, and when Tad reached him the lad had turned
over on his face, only the back part of his head showing above the
water. He appeared to be struggling, but unable to free himself from his
unpleasant position.

They jerked him up choking and coughing, shaking him vigorously to get
the water out of him.

"Wha--what's the matter!" stammered the boy.

"Matter enough. Trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy.

"Di--did I fall in?"

"Did you fall in? Where do you think you are?"

"I--I thought I fell in the river and I was trying to swim out,"
answered the boy, with a sheepish grin that caused his rescuers to shake
with merriment.

"Guess we'll have to get a life preserver for you," chuckled Big-foot.
"You ain't safe to leave around when the dew is falling."

"Dew? Call this dew? This is a flood."

"Go find a high piece of ground, and go to bed. We haven't got time to
lie awake watching you. Be careful that you don't step on any of the
bunch. They ain't likely to wake up in very good humor a night like
this, and besides, Lumpy Bates is sleeping not more'n a rope's length
from you. You can imagine what would happen if you stepped on his face
to-night."

Chunky shivered slightly. He had had one experience with the ill-natured
cowpuncher that day and did not care for another.

"I'll go to bed," he chattered.

"You'd better. What's that?" exclaimed the cowpuncher sharply, pausing
in a listening attitude.

"Some one coming," answered Tad. "They seem to be in a hurry."

"Yes, I should say they were. I reckon the trouble is coming, kid."

A horseman dashed up to the camp that lay enshrouded in darkness, save
for the lantern that hung at the tail board of the chuck wagon.

"Roll out! Roll out!"

It was the voice of Curley Adams.

The cowpunchers scrambled to their feet with growls of disapproval,
demanding to know what the row was about.

"What is it, a stampede?" called Big-foot, hastily rolling his blankets
and dumping them in the wagon.

"No; but it may be. The boss wants the