Something spurted from the muzzle of the odd little revolver, and a moment later there were other kinds of screams. “Oh, my eyes!” “My nose!” “Oh, what awful stuff!” “A-ker-choo” some one sneezed. “Will it explode from the flame of the lantern?” “Oh, Mrs. Bonnell! You aimed it right at me!” “Did I, my dear? I guess my hand must have shaken. Oh, but it is powerful; isn’t it?” And they all covered their streaming eyes from the fumes of the ammonia, which, confined by the closed tent, played havoc with them. Choking and gasping Mrs. Bonnell jumped up to open one of the tent flaps to let in air. “Did—did you hit—him?” gasped Mabel. “I—I didn’t see any one,” confessed the Guardian. “Natalie did, though.” “I—I didn’t really _see_ him,” murmured breath-of-the-pine-tree. “I—I heard him. Oh, please some one hand me my cold cream. I can’t see—those fumes from the ammonia are in my eyes.” “Didn’t you see him?” demanded Marie, as she tossed a tube of the cream over on Natalie’s cot. “No-o-o-o. There was a scratching sound, and I woke up, and—and——” “I shot!” declared Mrs. Bonnell. “You needn’t tell us that!” laughed Marie. “We all know it.” “I couldn’t find the pistol at first,” went on the Guardian, “for I had it in mind to put it under my pillow, and then I was afraid it might leak, so I laid it on my ‘bureau,’” and she smilingly indicated the upturned soap box. “But I found it,” she went on. “I’m sure whoever it was won’t come back,” spoke Alice. “Suppose we take a look.” “Never!” cried Marie. “Hark! What’s that?” demanded Natalie, as there sounded from without a trampling in the bushes. “He’s coming back!” murmured Mabel. “Shoot again, Mrs. Bonnell.” “Cover your heads, girls!” advised Marie. “What’s the matter in there?” demanded a voice they all recognized as Jack’s. “What has happened?” “Shall we come in?” asked Blake. “Don’t you dare!” cried Natalie. “Wait a minute!” Taking warning the Camp Fire Girls draped themselves more or less picturesquely in their robes. “Look around outside, and see if you can find any one mortally wounded, Jack,” begged Marie of her brother. “Then you may just peek in, and tell us about it.” There was a flash of a lantern outside the tent, and the voices of the three lads as they walked about the shelter. “There he is!” Blake was heard to cry. “Oh—oh, is he—is he—dead?” faltered Mrs. Bonnell. “He seems just to be having a fit,” answered Phil with a chuckle. The girls heard a commotion amid the dead leaves. “That ammonia was very strong,” murmured Alice. “Behold your victim!” cried Jack, parting the tent flaps, that had been allowed to fall back after the fumes had been somewhat blown away. “Behold your victim!” and by the tail, he held up to view a small fox, the hapless animal appearing to be in a sort of fit or stupor. “Take him away! Take him away!” screamed Alice. “He’ll bite!”