They made camp in a grove on the river’s bank. The sun had dropped behind the western range and night was coming fast. Chet was making the fire and skinning the grouse. Dig hobbled the horses nearby, where the grazing was good, and then went along the river bank to see if there was a spring, the water of which would be fresher and colder than the river water. And in stumbling along through the bushes in the half-darkness Dig Fordham fell upon his next adventure. Chet suddenly heard a mighty thrashing and bellowing in the brush. Dig’s voice rose in excitement: “Bring your rope, Chet! Bring your rope! I have a deer!” His chum did not believe him, but he did as Dig said and ran with the lariat coiled and ready in his hand. Only a few yards away he came upon his chum on the back of some animal, struggling in the mud beside the river. Dig had his arms around the creature’s neck, and was hanging on for dear life. “I have him! I have him!” cried Dig. “Looks as though he had you,” laughed Chet. The creature had evidently been lying in the mud and Dig had fallen over him. Chet slipped the noose over the head of the animal and then advised his chum to rise. “You’re frightening the poor thing to death,” he said, for it was bawling as well as struggling. And its voice was unmistakable to Chet’s ear. “Whew! I fell right over that deer,” gasped Dig, getting up as the creature danced around at the end of the rope, trying to get away from Chet. “Deer! Your grandmother’s hat!” Chet said scornfully. “You fell on a calf—that’s what you fell on. Don’t you know a deer from a calf?” “Calf?” repeated the chagrined Dig. “Where did it come from? There’s no ranch around here, is there?” “This is what you were looking for,” laughed Chet. “It’s a maverick. It likely strayed from the last bunch of cattle that went over the trail we crossed. But how under the sun it managed to escape the coyotes and lions and bears is a mystery to me. Poor little fellow!” “Come on!” exclaimed Dig. “We’ll drag him back to camp, and I’ll gentle him. We aren’t travelling very fast, Chet, and we can lead him to-morrow.” “Well! I’d rather you tried it than that I should,” his chum said grimly, handing him the end of the rope. “Go to it, boy!” CHAPTER XIII—“THE DOG SOLDIERS” The maverick was not a happy addition to the camping party—not at first, at least. Dig tied him to a tree, giving him the length of the lariat to tangle himself up in; and he did just that. Three times during supper Dig had to get up and unwind the rope to save the creature from choking himself to death. His plaintive “bla-att” might bring night-prowling beasts from the distant hills. In fact, Chet could not easily figure out how the yearling had escaped becoming the prey of some flesh-eating brute ere this, save that the season was in his favour.