Fitz was bound to have a picture of him, and sneaked around, to stalk him and snap him, close. But just as he was started--"Bang!" I jumped three feet; we all jumped. It was that fellow Bat. He had shot off his forty-five Colt's, at the squirrel, and with it smoking in his hand he was grinning, as if he had played a joke on us. He hadn't hit the squirrel, but it had disappeared. The ground-hog disappeared, the jays and the woodpeckers flew off, and after the report died away you couldn't hear a sound or see an animal. The gun had given notice to the wild life to vacate, until we were gone. And where that bullet hit, nobody could tell. Fitzpatrick turned around and came back. He knew it wasn't much use trying, now. We were disgusted, but General Ashley was the one to speak, because he was Patrol leader. "You ought not to do that. Shooting around camp isn't allowed," he said. "It's dangerous, and it scares things away." "I wanted that squirrel. I almost hit him, too," answered Bat. "Well, he was protected by camp law." (Note 31.) "Aw, all you kids are too fresh," put in Walt, the other. "We'll shoot as much as we please, or else we'll pull out." "If you can't do as the rest of us do, all right: pull," answered the general. "Let them. We don't want them," said Major Henry. "We didn't ask them in the first place. What's the sense in carrying a big revolver around, and playing tough!" "That will do, Henry," answered the general. "I'm talking for the Patrol." "Come on, Walt. We'll take our stuff and pull out and make our own camp," said Bat. "We won't be bossed by any red-headed kid--or any one-armed kid, either." He was referring to the gun and to the burro packing, both. Major Henry began to sputter and growl. A black-eyed boy is as spunky as a red-headed one. And we all stood up, ready, if there was to be a fight. But there wasn't. It wasn't necessary. General Ashley flushed considerably, but he kept his temper. "That's all right," he said. "If you can't obey discipline, like the rest, you don't camp with us." "And we don't intend to, you bet," retorted Walt. "We're as good as you are and a little better, maybe. We're no tenderfeet!" They gathered their blankets and their frying-pan and other outfit, and they stalked off about a hundred yards, further into the cedars, and dumped their things for their own camp. Maybe they thought that we'd try to make them get out entirely, but we didn't own the place; it was a free camp for all, and as long as they didn't interfere with us we had no right to interfere with them. We made our fire and they started theirs; and then I was sent out to hunt for meat again.