"Here! What's the matter with you! Don't you know no better than that?" demanded Billy in a hoarse whisper. "Want to give Roy a scare? I'll peg you out if you do that again!" "I--I didn't think!" "No, I guess you didn't. Lucky he didn't hear you. Now you think twice before you speak once, after this." "Here's your grub," announced the cook, holding out a big package to Roy. It contained enough food for three men, but Roy was a favorite with "Smoke," as indeed he was with all the men on the ranch, and this was the only way the genius of the camp-fire could show his affection. "Say, what do you think he goin' to do? Be three days on the home trail?" asked Billy. "He don't want no snack like that. He can't carry it." "I thought maybe he'd be hungry in the night." "I expect I will be, but not enough to get away with all that," remarked Roy with a smile, as he saw the big package. "I just want a little bread, and some cold bacon." The cook, with a sigh at the thought of the boy not being able to eat all the food, made a smaller package. Meanwhile Roy was in the saddle, ready to travel, wondering what could be the matter with his father, and why his parent had sent for him in such a hurry. "Got your gun?" asked Porter. "Yes," answered Roy, tapping the pistol in its holster at his belt. "Maybe you'd better take my pony," suggested Billy. "He can travel faster than yours." "No; Jack Rabbit's good enough for me," replied the boy, patting his own pony on the neck. "Yours may be a bit faster, but Jack Rabbit will stick longer. Well, I'm off!" "Good luck!" called Billy. "Don't worry!" advised Porter. "We'll see you in a couple of days," shouted the other cowboys. "Take care of yourself." "I will," said Roy, as he called to his pony, who started off on a steady "lope" that rapidly carried him over the ground. Now that he was away from the confusion of the camp, and had nothing to distract his mind, Roy gave himself up to thoughts of his father. "He must be quite sick," he reasoned, "or he never would have sent for me in such a rush. I wonder if Porter was afraid to tell me the truth?" For an instant the fear that his father might be dead, and that the cowboy had not dared to tell him of it, unnerved Roy. Then his natural braveness came back to him. "Oh, pshaw! What's the use of thinking such gloomy thoughts," he said to himself. "Maybe dad only had a little fit of indigestion, like he had before. I remember then I thought he sure was going to die. But Porter said it was as much business as anything else. Now what sort of business could dad have that he would need me in such a hurry?" Roy did not see any prospect of his questions being answered, at least until he got to the ranch, and could talk to his father, so he continued on, urging his pony to a faster gait.