eve me, try it. At the same time,
old tops, I would advise you that, though you don't know it, you are
already covered by a repeating rifle, and further, that should you make
a false move, the rifle is likely to go off." With that Hippy Wingate
thrust his revolver into its holster. "Your move. What's the joke?" he
demanded, casting a quick glance at the log behind which the forest
woman was hiding, and observing that her rifle barrel protruded over the
log ever so little, though the woman herself was not visible.

The men did not lower their weapons, but the rider in advance rode right
into the camp.

"You carrying guns? I mean game guns--rifles?" questioned the man in a
tone of severity.

"Yes."

"Shot anything?"

"Not yet, but I came near shooting two men just now," answered Hippy,
scowling as savagely as he knew how.

"Let me see 'em!"

"There's one of them. Look at it! On that log yonder," he added,
pointing to Joe Shafto's rifle. "Want to see the rest of them?"

"I reckon that's enough," answered the stranger. "I've heard that ye
folks was a tough bunch, and up here for a big killing. I'm the game
warden. I don't suppose ye even went to the trouble to git a license to
hunt in this state. Folks like you think they can git away with most
anything, but ye can't do it in these parts."

"Game warden, eh? You guessed wrong, old Santa Claus. I have a license.
We all have licenses and we propose to do some hunting when the season
opens, though that is not the main purpose of our journey up here."

"Show me."

Hippy handed his license to the warden, which that officer read with
frowning attention. Handing it back he demanded to see the licenses of
the others, which Lieutenant Wingate had had the foresight to procure
before the Overland Riders came west.

"Reckon you're all right so far as licenses is concarned, but ye can't
carry guns up here till the season--the game season's open," said the
game warden, handing back the licenses.

"It's always an open season for the kind of game we are going to hunt,"
Hippy informed him.

"Eh? What kind's that?"

"Your kind," retorted Hippy sharply.

"That's all I've got to do with ye. I'd make ye give up the guns, but
these gents have something to say to you folks. They'll take care of yer
rifles and such."

The game warden backed his horse away. His two companions, taking their
cue from his move, rode to the fore.

Hippy surveyed them narrowly.

"Here comes th