“Well, you never heard such a row as there was! I hadn’t got half-way to cover when the whole place was in an uproar and everybody in that camp was coming after me. The fellows in the tent came, too; one through the back and the other by way of the door. It was a merry chase, fellows! I made for the deep woods and then circled around toward the road, thinking I could outrun any of them if I had a good track. But I was off my reckoning. I reached the road all right and had a few yards’ start, when the chap who had seen me broke out of the woods and came after me like a house afire. And he can run, that Gipsy! If we had him at college we’d win the sprints easily! I put on every ounce of steam I had, but he kept gaining on me, and I saw that it was no use. Then I made a dive for the woods again, thinking I might manage to give him the slip. But instead of that I gave myself the slip. I tumbled over a root or something, and before I could get my feet again he had me.” “Oh, Chub!” gasped Harry. “Did he hurt you?” “Cut his head off,” said Dick. “Look for yourself, Harry.” “No, he didn’t hurt me, that is, not to mean it. He pretty nearly broke my back when he landed on me, but that was unintentional, I suppose. By the time I’d got up, about six more of the Indians were on the scene, all talking and jabbering away like mad. No one seemed to know what the trouble was, and the chap who had me couldn’t get them to keep still long enough to let him tell them. I never heard such a lot of noise in my life. Sounded like a meeting of the Football Rules Committee. Well, they held on to me and shouted and yelled, and I got my breath back and tried to put on a front. “‘What do you mean by chasing me like this?’ said I. ‘Let me go immediately’--or words to that effect. ‘What you do in my tent?’ asks the pasty-faced gentleman who had caught me. ‘What tent?’ says I, looking as innocent as anything. Then they all broke out again, and pointed, and began to lug me back to their old camp. I went unwillingly, but I went; that is, I went part way. Because, just as we were getting back to it, along comes a cloud of dust with an automobile in it. So I began to yell like anything: ‘_Help! Murder! Fire! Thieves!_’ And, being a human sort of an automobile, it stopped quick to see what was up. When the dust had blown away I looked up to find Joe Whiting grinning down at me in surprise. “‘Well, what the dickens are you doing here, Eaton?’ he asked. “‘Having my fortune told,’ said I. ‘And I don’t like the way it’s turning out.’