“Say! you boys have had plenty of luck hunting. Ain’t you got more meat than you want? We ain’t seen even a grouse.” “Tell him ‘No,’” whispered Digby. “The cheek of him!” But Chet saw that they would have to throw away some of the buffalo steaks if they were not soon eaten. The weather was too hot to carry fresh meat far in a blanket-roll. So he said: “Let’s give them some. It won’t hurt us.” “Huh! no, but I hope it will choke them,” growled Dig. “Giving sustenance to the enemy. Very bad judgment, Chet.” “Oh, well,” said his chum and started with a couple of big steaks to meet Tony. “I’ll keep a gun in my hand,” said Dig, behind him. “I wouldn’t trust that Tony as far as I could swing an elephant by the tail!” But the man received the meat with some expressions of gratitude. “I ain’t in with this sharp,” he whispered to Chet, and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at the man Steve, “for any money, or like o’ that. I didn’t know just what he was after till he’d got them papers off’n you.” “Well, he got them,” said Chet shortly. “But he ain’t got ’em now,” said the fellow, with a quick grin. “The chump lost ’em—somewhere.” Chet distrusted Tony Traddles; and he suspected that this all might have been arranged for the purpose of trying to throw him and Dig off the track. So he said nothing, returning to his own camp. They spent some time beside the stream; but as soon as the other party saddled their horses, the boys got ready to leave, too. Steve seemed in an ugly humour and Chet and Dig heard him threatening Tony. “‘When thieves fall out, honest men may get their dues,’ is an old saying,” whispered Chet. “Listen! Maybe we can hear something.” But they heard nothing of consequence. In ten minutes both parties were on horseback and trailing across the plain. There were many clumps of trees now, and the plain was cut up with gullies and rocky eminences which both parties wished to shun. They raised several coveys of grouse and Chet brought down two brace with his pistol. Dig tried to emulate his chum and was bitterly disgusted at the result. “Waugh!” he grunted. “I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a cannon firing shrapnel. I don’t see how you do it, Chet.” “Practice—practice, my boy,” quoth his chum. “Say!” ejaculated Dig. “Those fellows are watching. Hope they see what you do with a pistol, and overlook my work.” “That Steve What-is-it saw me shoot that hawk the other day. I guess he knows that we’re good shots. And of course Tony Traddles knows we’re not tenderfeet.” The boys saw Tony blaze away with his rifle several times at the birds, but they didn’t see a feather fly. Hitting a bird on the wing with a rifle is no easy task, at best. Chet’s work with the six-shooter was the result of long practice and a certain aptitude that the boy had originally possessed.