CHAPTER VII.

TURNING THE TABLES.

"What's all this mean?" said Thad, laughingly, although he did not fail to do as he had been ordered.

Two rather rough looking men came out of the scrub, carrying guns which seemed to be handled rather carelessly, seeing that they were evidently ready for immediate use.

"Why, consarn it all, Pierre, they're on'y a pack o' boys arter all, and not sojers," the larger man exclaimed, staring hard at the four scouts, some of whom wore various parts of their regular khaki uniforms, as well as the regulation campaign hat of the Boy Scout organization.

"_Sacre!_ zat ees so," the other man exploded, and Thad knew instantly from his name and manner of speech that Pierre must be one of those French Canadian half-breeds of whom he had heard so much.

"That's just what we are, my friends," Thad hastened to remark; "we belong to a Boy Scout troop in the East, and came out here to have a hunt in the Rockies. One of our number, a very fat boy, wandered off, and got lost in the big timber. We were following up his trail, and trying to locate him, when we discovered a camp-fire over here. So you see, we walked another mile just to give our friend a little surprise. But we hope you'll let us take down our hands now, because it's hard to hold them up like this."

The two men exchanged looks. Then they lowered the hammers of their guns. The action signified that, according to their way of thinking, they had nothing to fear from these half-grown lads.

"Cum an' set down an' tell us a lot more," said the big man, with the red face, and the crafty eyes, Thad could not bring himself to like, because he seemed to see wells of treachery in their depths.

So the boys dropped down again, being more foot-weary than ever. But taking a cue from Allan and Thad, the other two scouts kept their guns close beside them. Apparently none of them exactly liked the looks of the two strangers; and they were not accustomed to much reading of character, either.

"War his name Bumpus?" asked the American.

"Just what it was," flashed out Giraffe; "but how did you know that? Have you met up with our lost pard?"

"Sho! ain't I got ears, an' didn't one o' ye call out that same name when ye was agoin' ter walk inter our camp?" demanded the other, gruffly.

Thad was on the alert.

He did not feel favorably impressed by the looks of the two men. Besides, he noticed a crafty, greedy expression cross their faces whenever they allowed their eyes to rest on Step Hen's new repeating rifle. Evidently the neatness of the little weapon quite captured them, and made them envy the boy its possession.

And Thad was of the opinion that two such rough-looking customers would not hesitate long about trying to obtain anything they coveted.

The conversation soon became more general, the men wanting to know how it was these boys, almost wholly inexperienced in the ways of the woods as they took them to be, were venturesome enough to start into the foothills of the Rockies without a single guide along.

So Thad explained how they had engaged a pair of guides, both of whom had disappointed them, one by getting sick, and the other in taking up with a couple of big-horn sportsmen.

"But we heard of a man up here somewhere," Thad went on, "who'd been logger, trapper, timber cruiser and everything; and people said that if we could only run across Toby Smathers, and he took the job, we'd have a guide worth any two men."

"What's thet? Toby Smathers, did ye say?" demanded the other, that crafty look coming into his face again.

"Yes, that was the name; do you happen to know him?" asked Giraffe, eagerly.

"Reckons now, as none o' ye ever run acrost Toby; air thet right?" asked the man.

"We never have," replied Thad.

The fellow laughed harshly.

"Thet shore is a fack," he went on to say. "Jest think o' it, Pierre Laporte, they's askin' o' me ef I ever run acrost Toby Smathers? Ain't thet a good joke, though? I've kerried a few names in my day, younkers, an' Toby Smathers be one o' 'em."

"Oh! then you're the very man we've been looking for, eh?" but while Thad uttered this sentiment, there did not seem to be any great amount of enthusiasm in his manner, Allan thought.

"He believes the fellow lies; and I just know it," Allan was saying to himself.

"An' if so be ye wanter make me a offer, spot cash, ter guide ye boys through the big timber, find yer missin' chum, and show ye some big-horn huntin' in the Rockies, I'm yer man; on'y make the price wuth my while, an' cash down, spot cash."

Thad said he had no doubt it could be easily arranged to the satisfaction of all parties concerned. His object was really to gain time. He had received a secret sign from Allan, which told him just as plainly as so many words would have done that his chum had something of importance to communicate, as soon as they could get their heads together.

Step Hen and Giraffe had apparently swallowed the story offered by the self-called Toby Smathers without a suspicion. They were now entertaining the two men with some accounts of previous experiences. The fellows seemed to be in high spirits. They would nudge each other, and laugh boisterously on the slightest pretense. And sometimes they would laugh when there was no humorous story being told; a look exchanged between them being sufficient grounds for hilarity.

"They're sure enough feeling pretty fine," thought Thad; "and it strikes me they think they've got a little joke of their own that they're playing on us. Three to one it's about that name, too. I just can't believe that man answers to the description I've had of Toby Smathers. Why, they said he was just the picture of an honest wood's ranger, employed by the Government to watch out for timber thieves, forest fires and the likes. And that man's face would condemn him on sight before any judge."

Just then he heard Allan say he was thirsty, and must get a drink. The stream ran near by, and Thad noticed how the cautious Maine boy carried his gun along with him as he went.

A minute or so later Thad also arose.

"I'm as dry as a bone," he observed, "and I think I'd like a drink about the size of the one Allan's getting. Wait here, fellows."

He added these last words as a sop to quiet the suspicions of Pierre and the man who called himself Toby Smathers. They had frowned, and made an impatient movement upon noticing that Thad, too, took his gun along with him, rather a queer thing to do when only going for a drink.

But Thad's last words apparently served to disarm their suspicions. They had two of the boys held as hostages, at any rate.

Thad found his chum much excited. A drink just then was about the last thing Allan Hollister was thinking about.

"What is it?" asked Thad, in a whisper.

"Let's laugh a little, out loud, so they won't be suspicious," said the other; and after that clever dodge had been carried out, he went on to add: "you didn't believe what he said about that name, did you, Thad?"

"I certainly don't believe he's the man we're looking for up here," came the answer.

"That's right," Allan went on, "and I know he's a fraud. He wants to get hold of anything we have that's worth taking. That gun of Step Hen's seems to just take his eye."

"Do you know who he is?" demanded Thad.

"I can give a pretty close guess, now that we heard the name of his companion, Pierre Laporte," said Allan. "Some men down at the post where we got the mules told me to look out for a half-breed by that name, who kept company with an even worse scoundrel named Hank Dodge. And this is Hank, all right, make up your mind to that, Thad."

"Rascal is written big all over his face, I can see," the other went on. "But what is their line--just plain scamps, or timber cruisers?"

"There are different kinds of timber scouts or cruisers, they tell me," Allan continued. "Some are honest men, working for honest lumber dealers. Others spy out rich tracts on Government land, which the big company of thieves they're hired by, want to cut next winter. The Government loses millions on millions every year that way. And these crafty fellows are up here looking for timber that can be easily stolen and marketed next winter."

"What had we better do?" asked Thad. "It wouldn't be safe for us to spend the night in camp with them."

"I should say not," replied Allan earnestly. "If we go in the ordinary way the chances are they'll jump on us. So I suppose we might as well up and tell them we know who they are, and that we don't propose staying any longer in their company."

"They'll be as mad as hornets," suggested Thad.

"Let 'em," replied the other, "four guns are better than two, any day. Come on back to the fire right away."

As they drew near, Allan whispered:

"He's got it right now, Step Hen's rifle, I mean. Reckon he asked to see it, and our chum handed it over. Chances are he won't give it back again in a hurry. There, what did I tell you; he's laid it down beside him, Thad?"

"Now's our time to cut in, then," said the patrol leader. "You watch out for Pierre, and don't let him slip up on you, or there'll be heaps of trouble. Cover him when I do the other. Ready? Then here goes."

And ten seconds later those by the fire heard Thad call out in ringing tones.

"It's your turn, Pierre and Hank Dodge, to hold up your hands. Quick now, or it'll be the worse for you. The tables are turned--up with them!"