“A what?”

“A Pu—–­Pony Rider Boy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Ga—–­gathering firewood.”

“Who is your party?”

“Pro—–­professor Ze—–­Zep—–­Zepplin and the boys,” stammered the fat boy, trembling at the knees.  “I haven’t done anything, but I’m a bu—–­bu—–­bad man when I get ma—–­mad.”

The stern-faced stranger grinned appreciatively.

“You are not the fellows who came in at State Line the other day, are you?”

“Ye—–­yes, we’re the bu—–­bu—–­bunch.”

“Oh, fudge!” groaned the stranger.  “And to think I’ve been to all this trouble to round up a bunch of tenderfeet.”  The man thrust his revolver into its holster with a grunt of disgust.

“I’m Withem,” he snapped.

“So am I,” answered Chunky.

“I said, ‘I’m Withem,’” repeated the stranger.

“I said I was too,” reiterated the fat boy.

“Look here, what are you trying to get at, young man?” demanded the newcomer with a slight show of irritation.  “Are you trying to make sport of me?”

“N—–­n——­no.  You said you were with them—–­with us—–­with the crowd, you know.  And I said I was too.”

The stranger tilted back his head and laughed softly.

“You little cayuse, my name is Withem.  W—–­I—–­T—–­H—–­E——­M!” he spelled.

“Oh!”

A broad smile grew on the face of the Pony Rider Boy as he asked: 

“What do you reckon you want here?”

“I’m just looking around a bit.  I think I’ll go to your camp with you.”

Stacy surveyed his companion critically from head to foot.

“All right,” he said.  “If you want to take the chance, I’m willing.”

“What chance?” demanded the stranger.

“Tad Butler might take it into his head to throw you out, or something, if he doesn’t like your looks.”

“I’ll take the chance.”

“All right; come on.  But mind you, it’ll be the worse for you if you try to start anything.  We’re a bad lot, we are, and don’t you forget it.”

A moment or so later the Pony Rider Boys were amazed to see Stacy strutting in with a stranger in tow.

“He’s with us fellows,” was the fat boy’s announcement.

“Withem’s my name,” corrected the stranger.

“Yes, he’s with ’em.  But he hasn’t said who it is he is with.  I thought I was with him when he shoved a pistol under my nose.”

“Good evening, sir,” said Tad stepping up, directing a quick, keen glance of inquiry into the eyes of the newcomer.  In that one glance Butler decided that the man was all right.  It was a relief to see a face like that after their experience with the mountaineer.

As for the prisoner himself, who lay back in a shadow now, he started violently the instant he beheld the man who had just come into the camp of the Pony Rider Boys.  The prisoner looked as if he had a severe case of ague for he fairly shrank within himself.