“You are just in time to join us for a bite, Mr. Withem.  That is your name, is it not?”

“That’s my name.”

“Mine is Tad Butler.  This is Professor Zepplin.  The young man with whom you came in is Stacy Brown, otherwise Chunky, and here are Mr. Rector and Mr. Perkins.  If you will gather around the fire I’ll serve the chuck.”

“Thanks, young man.  You certainly know how to do the honors, as well as how to fry bacon.  I could smell that across a county and I’d ride to it as fast as horseflesh could carry me.”

“Are you from these parts?” asked the professor after they had seated themselves on the ground.

“Yes, I’m from everywhere,” laughed Withem.  “By the way, young man, that looks like the mark of a bullet on your cheek,” he continued, bending a keen glance on Stacy.

“Then it looks like what it is,” muttered the fat boy.

“I don’t want to be inquisitive, but—–­”

“No, it isn’t considered good manners to be too curious down in this country, I’ve heard.”

“Right you are, yonnker,” laughed Withem, in which the others joined heartily.  “Men have been known to get into trouble by being too curious, especially down on the Rio Grande.  The-----”

The visitor’s conversation was interrupted by something falling over from beside the tree against which he was sitting.  That something was the rifle the boys had taken from the prisoner.

Withem picked up the gun with the purpose of replacing it.  He was just standing it against the tree when suddenly he stopped, bringing the gun around in front of him where he could get a better view of it.

The Pony Rider Boys were regarding him questioningly, Tad almost suspiciously.  Chunky was wondering if their visitor was going to shoot.  The fat boy was ready to run at the first sign of trouble.  He had stopped enough bullets for one day.  As for the prisoner, his bloodshot eyes were taking in every movement of the man Withem.

“You seem to be much interested,” suggested Tad.

Withem flashed a keen, searching look into Butler’s face.

“I am.”

“Why that’s-----” began Walter, then subsided at a warning look from Tad.

“Pardon me, but will you be good enough to tell me where you got this rifle?  I have good and sufficient reasons for asking the question,” said Withem almost sternly.

“We took it from a man who had set out to shoot us up, sir,” replied Butler.

“Tried to shoot you up?  When?  Where?” demanded the visitor with a trace of excitement in his tone.

“This afternoon and to-night.  Stacy Brown’s cheek bears evidence of the fellow’s marksmanship.  It seems the man took us to be officers—–­Rangers, he said.”

“Then you—–­you talked with him?”

“We did,” answered Tad with a twinkle in his eyes.  “In fact we held quite a lengthy conversation with the gentleman.”