“Then forward fly,” commanded the old soldier. And up into the air with a rusty creak flung the weather cock and just beneath marched Grampa and the Prince. As they progressed through the ever darkening forest, Tatters told Bill of the great storm in Ragbad, how he was seeking his father’s head and his own fortune. “Your father lost his head in the same storm I found my life,” wheezed the weather cock earnestly, “so it is only fair that I should help you.” “Hah! We shall be helped by fair means or fowl!” chuckled the old soldier, who would have his little joke—but it was lost on Bill, who was already looking around for the King’s head and the fortune. And though he was not quite sure what a fortune was, he felt confident that he should find one. It had grown so dark by now that Grampa soon called a halt. Under a tall blue tree the little company made camp. Bill was most helpful in collecting wood and Prince Tatters put up the red umbrella, which was so large that it served them admirably for a tent. A little beyond the rim of the umbrella Grampa kindled a fire, and after a cozy supper of toasted sandwiches the old soldier unbuckled his leg and he and Prince Tatters settled down to a quiet game of scrum. Bill flew to the top of the blue tree to observe the wind and the weather, and nothing could have been more peaceful. The stars twinkled merrily above, the fire crackled cheerily below and Tatters had just beaten Grampa two games to one, when a hundred little snaps in the underbrush made them turn in alarm. “Great gum drops!” gasped the old soldier, jumping to his foot. Tatters snatched up the umbrella and, using it for a shield, began to back away, for in the circle of the firelight and completely surrounding the blue tree stood a company of bandits. They were tall and terrible, with great slouch hats and blue boots. Pistols and daggers by the dozen bristled in their belts and nothing could have been fiercer than their whiskered faces and scowling brows. For a moment no one spoke. Grampa frowned angrily and Prince Tatters tried to look as if he was not scared. As usual, Bill was calm. “Are you going to stop here and let them call you gum drops?” sneered the leader, plucking a dagger from his boot. He took one stride forward, then pitched on his face and lay perfectly still—for the weather cock, convinced that this was an enemy, had fallen hard upon his head. The suddenness of the blow surprised the outlaws and while they drew back in confusion Grampa leaned down, seized his wooden leg and buckling it on as he ran, joined Prince Tatters, who by this time had his back against the tree. “Go it Bill!” shouted the old soldier, laying about with his drum sticks.