rthlessly. Perhaps it was better that the professor should
have had an object lesson. He would take no further chances with the
fellow after that. As for the prisoner, he was fairly frothing at the
mouth with rage.

Now that the excitement had come to an end for the moment Stacy Brown
went about his task of gathering more wood for the fire. This time
he went quite a distance down the canyon, carrying a torch that he
might the better find that for which he was in search.

Stacy was busy gathering wood, muttering to himself as was his habit,
when all of a sudden he straightened up, conscious that some one was
standing beside him. As he rose the fat boy's nose nearly bumped into
the muzzle of a revolver. The revolver was backed by a not unpleasant,
but stern face.

"Wha---wha-----what---" stammered the fat boy. "Wh---wh---who---"

"Not a sound, young man, if you value your life. Who and what are you?"

"I---I'm a Pu---Pu---Pony Rider Boy."

"A what?"

"A Pu---Pony Rider Boy."

"What are you doing here?"

"Ga---gathering firewood."

"Who is your party?"

"Pro---professor Ze---Zep---Zepplin and the boys," stammered the fat
boy, trembling at the knees. "I haven't done anything, but I'm a
bu---bu---bad man when I get ma---mad."

The stern-faced stranger grinned appreciatively.

"You are not the fellows who came in at State Line the other day,
are you?"

"Ye---yes, we're the bu---bu---bunch."

"Oh, fudge!" groaned the stranger. "And to think I've been to all this
trouble to round up a bunch of tenderfeet." The man thrust his
revolver into its holster with a grunt of disgust.

"I'm Withem," he snapped.

"So am I," answered Chunky.

"I said, 'I'm Withem,'" repeated the stranger.

"I said I was too," reiterated the fat boy.

"Look here, what are you trying to get at, young man?" demanded the
newcomer with a slight show of irritation. "Are you trying to make
sport of me?"

"N---n----no. You said you were with them---with us---with the crowd,
you know. And I said I was too."

The stranger tilted back his head and laughed softly.

"You little cayuse, my name is Withem. W---I---T---H---E----M!" he
spelled.

"Oh!"

A broad smile grew on the face of the Pony Rider Boy as he asked:

"What do you reckon you want here?"

"I'm just looking around a bit. I think I'll go to your camp with you."

Stacy surveyed his companion critically from head to foot.

"All right," he said. "If you wa