"Well, Step Hen," he said, slowly and convincingly, "I can't exactly do that, but I think I might give a pretty good guess, knowing you so well. Just five minutes ago you showed up, after having gone to get a drink at the little stream that runs through here. There's a regular place where we bend down to drink; and I can just see you taking off that campaign hat of yours, laying it nicely on the bank, getting your fill of water; and then deliberately coming back to camp, leaving your hat there; and then you kick up the greatest racket because you suddenly notice it isn't on your head!" Some of the other boys clapped their hands, while Step Hen looked foolish at the well-merited rebuke. "Mebbe you're right that time, Thad," he said, meekly, as, turning, he strode from the briskly burning fire, heading toward the good spot alongside the little stream, where they knelt to drink. It was perhaps half a minute afterwards when he was heard to give a screech that brought every scout instantly to his feet, jumping for their guns, when they caught the meaning of his words: "I've got him!" yelled Step Hen, at the top of his voice; "I'm holding him, all right! But come and give me a hand, somebody, or he'll get away! Injuns! Injuns!" No wonder that excitement filled the camp of the Silver Fox Patrol! CHAPTER VII. STEP HEN MAKES A CAPTURE. "Wow! it's a regular attack! Keep hold of your guns, boys, and make every bullet count!" whooped the excited Giraffe. "Don't anybody fire a single shot without orders!" roared Thad, who could never tell what such a fly-up-the-creek as Giraffe was capable of doing, once he got started. The guide led the way toward the spot where Step Hen still continued to shout and entreat. All of the boys had seen fit to arm themselves. Even Smithy, who had no gun, had seized upon the camp hatchet, and imagined himself looking exceedingly warlike as he trotted along in the wake of his comrades, making violent passes in the air, as though cutting down imaginary enemies by the score. They thus came upon Step Hen; and sure enough he was clinging to the back of an Indian, both arms being twisted desperately around the latter's dusky neck in a way that threatened to choke the other. Step Hen may never have read about the way the Old Man of the Sea clung to Sinbad the Sailor, using both arms and legs to maintain his hold; but Thad thought, when he had his first glimpse of the picture, that at any rate the scout was a good sticker. But then the Indian did not seem to be doing anything on his part to ward off the attack; indeed, he was standing there, bearing his burden with that stoical indifference peculiar to his race. There was no smile on his sober face that Thad could see; but he imagined that the Indian must surely appreciate the ridiculous nature of the situation.