"Don't tell them. Talk football lingo as if you was still out of your haid." Holt turned and called to Dud. "Says he wants some breakfast." "On the way," the cook answered. Holt seemed to be soothing the delirious man. What he really said was this. "Selfridge has arranged a plant for you at Kamatlah. The camp has been turned inside out to fool you. They've brought me here a prisoner so as to keep me from telling you the truth. Pst! Tune up now." Big Bill had put down his axe and was approaching. He was not exactly suspicious, but he did not believe in taking unnecessary chances. "I tell you I'm out of training. Played the last game, haven't we? Come through with a square meal, you four-flusher," demanded Elliot in a querulous voice. He turned to Macy. "Look here, Cap. Haven't I played the game all fall? Don't I get what I want now we're through?" The voice of the young man was excited. His eyes had lost their quiet steadiness and roved restlessly to and fro. If Big Bill had held any doubts one glance dissipated them. "Sure you do. Hustle over and help Dud with the breakfast, Holt. I'll look out for our friend." Elliot and Holt found no more chance to talk together that morning. Sometimes the young Government official lay staring straight in front of him. Sometimes he appeared to doze. Again he would talk in the disjointed way of one not clear in the head. An opportunity came in the afternoon for a moment. "Keep your eyes skinned for a chance to lay out the guard to-night and get his gun," Holt said quickly. Gordon nodded. "I don't know that I've got to do everything just as you say," he complained aloud for the benefit of George, who was passing on his way to the place where the horses were hobbled. "Now--now! There ain't nobody trying to boss you," Holt explained in a patient voice. "They'd better not," snapped the invalid. "Some scrapper--that kid," said the horse wrangler with a grin. Macy took the first watch that night. He turned in at two after he had roused Dud to take his place. The cook had been on duty about an hour when Elliot kicked Holt, who was sleeping beside him, to make sure that he was ready. The old man answered the kick with another. Presently Gordon got up, yawned, and strolled toward the edge of the camp. "Don't go and get lost, young fellow," cautioned Dud. Gordon, on his way back, passed behind the guard, who was sitting tailor fashion before a smudge with a muley shotgun across his knees. "This ain't no country for chechakoes to be wandering around without a keeper," the cook continued. "Looks like your folks would have better sense than to let their rah-rah boy--"