He was rather silent all through supper. They could look right down into the other camp and see the two rascals moving about their own fire. The night was still and the air very sweet. They were not troubled by gnats much, either, and the horses were not restless. Dig rolled into his blanket early. Chet did not put more fuel on the coals, for he did not want the men below to see his movements. They kept up a good fire for some time, however. The boy knew the men were talking, for occasionally the breeze brought to him the sound of their voices. Dig slept like a top, and Chet slipped out of the camp, passed near the horses to see that they were all right, and then, pistol in belt, crept quietly down the hillside. Eavesdropping was not a game he loved to play; but the situation seemed to call for it. If he could learn something about the plans of the two rascals, it might help him decide his own course. For Chet Havens felt deeply the responsibility that circumstances had thrust upon him. He was naturally a thoughtful boy, and when his father had talked so seriously to him regarding the errand to Grub Stake, Chet had no idea that he would fail in any particular to fulfil his father’s wishes. It was farthest from his thoughts (as it probably was from Mr. Havens’) that anybody would attempt to steal the deeds from Chet. The boy accused himself of having been careless, however; in no other way could the deeds have been taken from him. Now he must get them back if it was a possible thing. Chet was prepared to run into some danger, if necessary, to accomplish this end. Therefore he crept near to the scoundrels’ camp and chanced a fight with them if they should find him there. They did not seem to be discussing anything of much moment to Chet, however, when he first established himself behind a tree within a few feet of the campfire. Tony was speaking: “Well! we gotter have some o’ that buffalo meat—that’s all there is to it.” “If those boys kill one,” sneered Steve. “Oh, they’ll kill one all right,” said Tony, with confidence. “You’ve seen what they can do with a gun—’specially that Chet Havens. He’s a crackajack!” “Oh, I see,” grumbled the other man. “Confound ’em! If it wasn’t for their guns I’d drive ’em out of the country easy.” “Well, wait till we can load up with some grub before taking the back track; that’s what I say,” growled Tony, puffing on his eternal pipe. “You think altogether too much of your stomach, Tony,” complained the other man. “Why shouldn’t I think of it? Nobody else is goin’ to,” declared the hairy one, philosophically. “Tony Traddles has had to look after his own self since he was knee high to a hoppergrass. Ain’t nobody cared a continental for him—no, sir! Old man Havens chucked him out’n his job like he was a dawg.” “And I should think you’d be sore on this son of his, for it,” observed Steve.