“You may be guilty, Mr. Newnham, of giving me far more credit than I deserve,” laughed Tom gently.  “In the matter of finding out the enemy’s designs, I didn’t, and I don’t know fully yet what the other side intends to do to us.  What I did learn was by accident.”

“Very few other young men would have been equal to making the greatest and best use of what accident revealed,” insisted Mr. Newnham warmly.

Harry Hazelton came now, from the hole in the ground, to report that Dr. Gitney had done all he could for the comfort of poor young Reynolds.

“Gitney says that Reynolds ought to come along all right, as far as the mere wound itself is concerned,” Hazelton added.  “What will have to be looked out for is suppuration.  If pus forms in and around the wound it may carry Reynolds off, for there are no hospital conveniences to be had in this wild neck of the woods.”

“Is the doctor staying with Reynolds?” Tom asked, still using the glasses on the hilly country that lay ahead.

“No; he has gone back to Mr. Thurston and Mr. Blaisdell,” Hazelton answered.  “Doc says he’ll have to be with them to quiet them in case the firing gets close.  He says both men will become excited and try to jump out of bed and come over here.  Doc says he’s going to strap ’em both down.”

“Dr. Gitney may be badly needed here, if a fight opens,” Tom mused aloud.

“He says, if we need him, to send for him.”

“Come through a hot fire?” Tom gasped.

“Surely!  Doc Gitney is a Colorado man, born and bred.  He doesn’t mind a lead shower when it comes in the line of duty,” laughed Harry.  “Now, if you’re through using me as a messenger, I’m going to find a rifle.”

“You won’t succeed,” Tom retorted.  “Every rifle in camp already has an amateur soldier behind it.”

“Just my luck!” growled Harry.

“You’re a good, husky lad,” Tom continued.  “If you want to be of real use, just lie down hug the earth, take good care not to be hit, and-----”

“Fine and manly!” interjected Hazelton with contempt.

“Now, don’t try to be a hero,” urged Tom teasingly.  “There are altogether too many green, utterly inexperienced heroes here at present.  Be useful, Harry, old chum, and let those who are good for nothing else be heroes.”

“Following your own advice?” asked Hazelton.  “Is that why you haven’t a rifle yourself?”

“Why do I need a rifle?” demanded Reade.  “I’m a non-combatant.”

“You-----”

“Box the chatter, Harry, and ship it east,” Tom interposed, showing signs of interest.  Then, in a louder voice, Tom called: 

“Dave Fulsbee!”

“Here,” answered the deputy sheriff from his hiding place in the brush.

“Do you see that bald knob of rock ahead, to your left; about a quarter of a mile away?”

“I do.”

“I make out figures crawling to the cover of the line of brush just to the right of the bald knob,” Tom continued.  “There are eight of them, I think.”