“That’s what,” he returned quickly. “Some said he took to runnin’ with this other woman, an’ that’s what killed her. Waal, I ain’t sorry the way things has turned out. Jellison ain’t the sort of man I like to have dealings with. Tew cantankerous, you know. Now Lawrence is a nice, pleasant-spoken young feller, an’ lets me make what I kin, lettin’ the house to folks as is out huntin’ like you boys. ’Tain’t likely Jellison would——” He broke off abruptly as the crash of a gun sounded with startling distinctness from the silent woods. The next instant came a pattering shower of fine shot which cut the twigs and branches of the near-by bushes, and caused each man to duck instinctively. Merriwell was the first of the party to recover his presence of mind. “Stop that, you lunatic!” he shouted, his face dark with anger. “Came mighty near losing an eye,” growled Buckhart, wiping away a drop of blood where one of the shots had grazed his face. “Come out here and show yourself!” cried Fitzgerald, replacing the soft felt hat which had been knocked off. “Yes, consarn ye!” exclaimed Lysander Cobmore, shaking a lean fist toward the woods. “What in time d’ye mean?” There was no reply, but Merriwell’s keen ear caught a faint rustling among the leaves. “I’m going to see who the idiot is,” he said, in a low tone. “If we’re to stay around here, we can’t be running the risk of being shot in the back any minute.” Without waiting for a reply, he darted through the undergrowth and disappeared. Brad was at his heels, and a moment later the remainder of the party heard a smothered exclamation, followed by the sound of talking, in which they distinguished the tones of a strange voice. Then the crashing through the bushes was resumed, and presently three figures appeared in sight. Fitzgerald chuckled suddenly. “Pipe the willie-boy, Teddy,” he said, in a low tone. “Wouldn’t that frost you! Bet he took us for deer.” “He looks like the kind that would,” Baxter returned, with a grin. They watched with considerable curiosity the approach of the stranger, who walked between Brad and Dick and was talking in a high-pitched, excited voice. He was small and undersized, with stooping shoulders and a rather insignificant face. He was dressed from head to foot in khaki, which was very palpably brand new and made him ludicrously resemble one of the wooden dummies which tailors use to show off their goods. Apparently he had gone into a sporting-goods establishment and purchased everything the clerk offered, even to a revolver which hung in a leather holster at one side of the broad belt, and a large hunting knife stuck into the other. In one gloved hand he held a double-barrel, sixteen-gauge shotgun which he clasped by the end of the barrel, letting the stock drag through the leaves behind him.