“That sounds like astronomy,” ventured Stacy.

“You’re wrong; it’s geography,” chuckled Rector.  “I’ll finish the story.  The ruffian fired twice more after the first two shots at Tad; then he went down as the stone landed on him.  By the time he had got up, Tad was on the job and punched him in the jaw.”

“Boys, boys!” rebuked Professor Zepplin.  “One would think this was a prize fight you were describing.”

“It’s the truth,” protested Ned.

“Of course it is,” laughed Tad.

“That may be.  But be good enough to moderate your language.  You can describe the scene without using questionable language.”

“Yes, it’s disgraceful,” added Stacy, whereat Ned gave the fat boy another withering look.

“As I was about to say,” continued Rector, “this gentleman of the mountains had got to his feet when Tad gently smote said gentleman on the tender part of his chin.  The gentleman fell down and went to sleep like a little child after a full meal.  When the gentleman woke up we had him hog-tied—–­”

“During which time our friend Ned remained tied to a tree,” chuckled Butler.

“Pshaw!  I thought so,” grunted Stacy.  “Brave man is Ned Rector!  If you were a scarred veteran like myself then you’d have a right to swell out your chest,” added the fat boy, gingerly stroking the bullet mark on his cheek.  “Well, go on.  We’re listening.”

“That’s all there is to tell, Professor, except that we carried the man down here and there he is.”

Professor Zepplin stroked his bristling whiskers reflectively.

“What is your name, my man?” he asked stepping up to the prisoner.  But the fellow made no reply.

“I said what is your name?” repeated Professor Zepplin.

“What’s that to you, old Whiskers?”

The professor started, a faint touch of color showing under his tan, while audible chuckles might have been heard from the boys in the background.

“Such language will not help you.  What is your name?”

“Yours will be Mud when I git out of this, you old scarecrow!  Don’t you stand there jawing over me.  I don’t like it,” added the prisoner, so savagely that the professor shrank back a little.

“It’s no use to question him, professor,” spoke up Tad.  “He won’t answer questions.”

“I question our right to hold him,” said Professor Zepplin.  “We have no proof that he is the man who shot at us.”

“I’ve got proof that he assaulted me,” bristled Ned.

“And I that he shot at me four times,” added Tad.  “I should think that were proof enough.  What would you do, Professor?”

“I was thinking that we should let the man go with an admonition.”

“No, no, no,” protested Chunky.  “I don’t want to be shot up again to-day.”

“Don’t be afraid, little boy,” urged Rector.  “We are not going to let the man go—–­not if I have to fight for it.”