Accordingly, early next morning he rode over to the Upper Camp. Outside, near the creek, he came upon the deserted evidences of a gathering of men. Bed rolls lay scattered under the trees, saddles had been thrown over fallen trunks, bags of provisions hung from saplings, cooking utensils flanked the smouldering remains of a fire which was, however, surrounded by a scraped circle of earth after the careful fashion of the mountains. Bob's eye, by now practised in the refinements of such matters, ran over the various accoutrements thus spread abroad. He estimated the number of their owners at about a score. The bedroll of the cowman, the "turkey" of the lumber jack, the quilts of the mountaineer, were all in evidence; as well as bedding plainly makeshift in character, belonging to those who must have come from a distance. A half-dozen horses dozed in an improvised fence-corner corral. As many more were tied to trees. Saddles, buckboards, two-wheeled carts, and even one top buggy represented the means of transportation. Bob rode on through the gate to headquarters.. This he found deserted, except for Amy Thorne. She was engaged in wiping the breakfast dishes, and she excitedly waved a towel at the young man as he rode up. "A godsend!" she cried. "I'm just dancing with impatience! They've been gone five minutes! Come help me finish!" Bob fastened his horse, rolled back his sleeves, and took hold with a will. "Where's your examining board, and your candidates?" he inquired. "I thought I was going to see an examination." "Up the Meadow Trail," panted the girl. "Don't stop to talk. Hurry!" They hurried, to such good purpose, that shortly they were clambering, rather breathless, up the steeps of the Meadow Trail. This led to a flat, upper shelf or bench in which, as the name implied, was situated a small meadow. At the upper end were grouped twenty-five men, closely gathered about some object. Amy and Bob plunged into the dew-heavy grasses. The men proved to be watching Thorne, who was engaged in tacking a small target on the stub of a dead sugar pine. This accomplished, he led the way back some seventy-five or eighty paces. "Three shots each," said he, consulting his note-book. "Off-hand. Hicks!" The man so named stepped forward to the designated mark, sighted his piece carefully, and fired. "Do I get each shot called?" he inquired; but Thorne shook his head. "You ought to know where your guns shoot," said he. After the third shot, the whole group went forward to examine the target. Thorne marked the results in his note-book, and called upon the next contestant.