“S-s-say, you a hunter, and never heard about the s-s-spring-gun trap?” exclaimed Toby, scornfully.  “Well, I’ll try to explain, if you give me a little t-t-time, and don’t r-r-rush me too much.  You see, a gun is f-f-fastened to the ground, and aiming along a certain avenue that the intended thief has just g-g-got to use in c-c-coming up to the b-b-bait.  Then a c-c-cord is s-s-strung so the thief p-p-presses against the s-s-same, just like Max here fixes his c-c-camera nights, when he wants to s-s-snap off a skunk or a ’coon by flashlight.  Well, the g-g-gun goes off, and f-f-fills Mister Thief with number twelve birdshot.  When you hear the c-c-crash, and his howls, why, you just s-s-saunter out and f-f-fetch in the s-s-spoils.  There, do you understand about the s-s-spring-gun trap now, Steve?”

“Oh!  I knew all that before, only you mixed me up by giving it that name,” the other hastily replied.  “But it strikes me that’d be a pretty rough deal for us to play.  It might answer if the thief were an animal, but a human being is different.”

“All the same,” retorted Toby, savagely, “he’s a t-t-thief, and outside the p-p-pale of the law.”

“Just so,” Steve went on, and Max was surprised at his moderation, because, as a rule, Steve had always been the most reckless one of the crowd; “but suppose now we found that we’d done more than we calculated on, Toby?  A charge of small birdshot starts out on its errand a whole lot like a bullet.  It doesn’t commence to scatter till it gets just so far away from the muzzle of the gun; depending on the size of the bore, and the way the barrel is choked.  I’ve known a charge of shot to tear a hole right through a board when fired at close range.  At a distance it would only have scattered out, and peppered the whole fence.  And, Toby, we might feel rather bad if we found we’d killed a man, even if he was a thief!”

Toby did not answer to that fling.  The truth of the matter was he shivered at the gruesome picture Steve’s words drew before his mental vision; for Toby was not at all bloodthirsty.

Max now took a hand in the conversation.

“Listen, fellows,” he went on to say, “it strikes me that when we set about discussing this matter, we ought to remember that there’s one chap who’s considerably more interested in the outcome than any of us can ever be.”

“’Course you mean Obed when you say that, Max?” ventured Bandy-legs.

“He’s the one,” the other admitted.  “And we ought to invite him to join us in figuring out our plans.  Now, it may be Obed will have a scheme of his own that’d knock any we might think up all silly.  I’ll call him over, and tell him what we’re trying to arrange.”

It happened that just then Obed was passing on his way to the cabin.  He had been working somewhere amidst his enclosures, perhaps making certain preparations for insuring the safety of his valuable furry pets, should a descent on the farm come about during the hours of darkness.