“’Fraid it lets _me_ out,” remarked the sandy-haired boy, quietly. “I’ve got to be looking for a job these days.” Sid looked his sympathy and put his arm about Scotty’s shoulders. “We’ll manage it, somehow, old bunkie--never fear!” he said, consolingly. “It may be your last,--but we just _got_ to have this one together!” The Colonel smiled enigmatically. “Sure you’re going, Lester--job and all!” he assured him. “And how about training these pups, boys?” Scotty couldn’t see it, but at least he would be glad to help train the dogs, anyhow, he reflected. It would give him some precious days in the mountains under tent cloth. How such vacations were to be treasured--now! The Colonel took three pedigree certificates out of his desk drawer. “Pepper, Bourbon and Lee,” he read, naming the pups, “the markings will tell which is which.” Then he looked toward the house door of the Den like a guilty boy. “Boys--how will we--how _dare_ we lead ’em in?” he whispered. “Your mother, Sid, knows nothing of this--and you know how she hates dogs!” The boy chuckled. The Colonel was in a worse fix than he ever had been facing Apache Geronimo! “Looks like they would have to live right here, sir!” laughed Sid, looking up from making friends with the first puppy. “Couldn’t wish for better den mates, I’ll say!” The Colonel knew more than either of the boys about the trouble he was getting into. That haunting, houndy look in the pups’ eyes, as their long, silken ears drooped from high, pointed crowns, told him of a diabolical persistence and a wild, ineradicable thievishness that would play havoc with Mrs. Colvin’s domestic arrangements! You could feed them with a shovel and still there would be room for more. And, as to the neighbors’ cats and chickens--he shuddered at the thought. “Well--we might as well have it out _now_!” he remarked, grimly, seizing the chains and pushing open the house door. A feminine shriek greeted him. “_Where_ did you get those horrid dogs?--Send them away at once--I won’t _have_ them!” came Mrs. Colvin’s indignant protest. Pepper, the biggest of the trio, jumped and broke away at that moment, darting for the pantry door with the boys in hot pursuit. A wild African yell came from the kitchen where Aunty Sally was preparing supper. Then there was a crash of broken china, another war whoop, and Pepper came yelping, booted through the door to dash under the dining-table legs. Aunty Sally charged wheezily after him. “He done broke de Dresden china bowl!--Dat ornery houn’ dawg he done broke de Missus’ china oyster dish!” she yelled.--“Whar he at!--Let me beat him black an’ blue!”