person who had not gotten up
when Tad Butler sent a bullet into the thicket fully six feet above the
head of the gold digger who was spying on the camp.

Darwood was more angry at having been discovered than being shot at. He
had heard the bullet rip through the foliage above his head, and knew
that the shot had been intended to stir him up rather than to reach him.
That the boy whom he had driven from his own camp should have thus
turned the tables on him angered him almost beyond his control. Darwood
was so angry that he failed to see any humor in the situation.

"It is Mr. Darwood, isn't it?" cried the Professor with face aglow,
striding forward with outstretched hand. As in Butler's case, Darwood
professed not to see the proffered hand. He looked the Professor
squarely in the face.

"Won't you sit down and have a snack with us?" asked Professor Zepplin.
"We were eating when Tad fired that shot. That was very careless of you,
young man. You might have killed someone."

"I reckon he knew whom he was shooting at," answered the gold digger.
"You see, this isn't the first time that young fellow and myself have
met."

"Of course not. We all met on the 'Corsair,'" spoke up Rector.

"He and I have met since then," answered Darwood. "I reckon you know all
about it. He came spying on our camp this morning just after daylight,
and--"

"You know that isn't true," interjected Tad. "Why don't you tell it
straight if you are bound to tell it?"

The miner let one hand fall to his holster.

"Up in this country they don't call men liars," answered Darwood,
looking Butler coldly in the eyes.

"Then men shouldn't place themselves in a position to be called liars,"
retorted Tad boldly. "You had better take your hand from your revolver.
If you will take the time to glance at the rock to your right you may
possibly see something to interest you."

The miner cast a quick glance of inquiry in the direction indicated, and
found himself looking into the muzzle of a rifle, laid over the top of
the rock. Behind the rifle was Chunky, one eye peering over the sights.

Tad laughed.

"Stacy!" thundered the Professor. "What does this mean?"

"Nothing, Professor," answered Tad. "Chunky got a little excited, that
is all. You may put the gun down, Stacy. Mr. Darwood doesn't understand;
that's all. Sit down and have a snack with us, as the Professor has
asked you to do," urged Butler.

"I don't want to eat with you. You know it. Don'