“That’s true enough,” nodded Tom.  “Even if we did kill a few, I guess we’re more entitled to praise than reproach.”

Two more cows presently got up and limped away, but there were four others still alive, yet too badly hurt to attend to themselves.

Nor could the high school boys help, further than by carrying buckets of water to the suffering animals.  Dick & Co. had no firearms along, and could not put the injured cows out of their misery.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” urged Dick at last.  “We can’t do any good here, and this is no pleasant sight to gaze upon.”

“It seems too bad to leave all this prime roast beef on the ground, doesn’t it?” hinted Tom.  “And we fellows have such good appetites.”

“The cattle are not ours,” Dick rejoined.  “We have no right to help ourselves to any cuts of meat from the dead animals.”

So they returned to the camp, which they found, of course, quite undisturbed.

It so happened that the four members of the party who had proposed going to other scenes for the forenoon forgot their projects.

CHAPTER VIII

VISITORS FOR THE FEAST

Bang! bang! sounded in the direction of the burned-over clearing.

“Let’s go over and see what that means,” proposed Tom.

He jumped up, ready to sprint over to the clearing.

“If you want advice,” Dick offered, “I’d say to wait until the shooting is over.  You might stop a stray bullet not intended for us.”

“But what can the shooting mean” wondered Greg.

“When anyone is turning bullets loose,” remarked Darry, “I’m not too inquisitive.”

So the boys waited until the firing had ceased.  Then they heard what sounded like the noise of a horse moving through the brush.

“Hello, there!” called Dick.

“Hello, yourself!” came the answer, and a mounted man rode into view.  He did not look especially ugly or dangerous; his garb was plainly intended for the saddle.  As he came into sight the man slipped a heavy automatic revolver into a saddle holster.

“What was up?” inquired Dick, rising and going forward to meet the newcomer.

“Stampede,” replied the other briefly.

“We know something about that,” Dick rejoined.

“Do you know anything about the burning of the clearing?” asked the horseman, reining up and eyeing the lads keenly.

“Yes, sir; we fired the grass,” Prescott acknowledged.

“To break the stampede?”

“No, sir; to save our camp, which would have been destroyed.”

“Shake,” invited the stranger, riding forward and bending over to hold out his hand.  “Your fire cost us a few cattle, but I reckon it saved the destruction of a lot more, for there would have been many of ’em killed if they had charged on into the deeper forest.”

“Then the stampede has been stopped?” asked Prescott.