“Now, Fatty, it’s your turn,” announced Cad.  “You may have to wait around here for an hour or two while we beat up the bushes and drive the ’possum in, but you won’t care.  You’ll be glad you stayed when you get a nice fat ’possum for your breakfast.”

“I’ll catch him if he comes this way,” replied the fat boy.

“You bet you’ll catch it,” chuckled Dippy.

“How long do I stay here?”

“Till you git a ’possum,” answered Polly.  “Mebby that’ll be in two minutes and mebby not in two hours, but you’ve got to stand very still.  If you move you’ll scare the whole pack of them back into their holes.”

Stacy squared himself, holding the opening of the bag close up to the burning candle.

“That’s right.  A little more to the left with the opening,” directed Cad, who had constituted himself the master of the hunt.  “Now hold it.  You other two lads work around the outside.  One of you go to the north, the other to the south about a quarter of a mile, then work gradually in, beating the bushes, slamming these clubs against every tree you come to big enough to hold a ’possum.  In that way you’ll drive them in.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Tad and Ned very solemnly.

“And go slow.  Just take a step at a time, or some of the birds may get by you.”

“A ’possum isn’t a bird,” corrected Stacy.

“You’ll think it is after you’ve hunted one for an hour or two.  Now git going, you beaters.  Imagine you’re beating the bush for lions.  That will keep you from going to sleep on the job.”

Chunky’s eyes grew large.

“See here, you don’t want to stand up straight,” rebuked Morgan.  “You must lean over just like this,” bending himself almost double with his nose close to the ground.

For a half hour Stacy Brown maintained his position.  By this time his back was aching, perspiration was running down his face and neck in rivulets.  Insects of many shapes and forms, attracted by the light, were hopping about, some getting into the fat boy’s eyes, nose and ears, others getting under his clothing.  But still he held the bag open.  No ’possums came his way.  Some few thousands of insects did.  A large part of these hopped into the bag.  Others crawled in.

In the meantime Tad, his face wearing a grin, had walked away, but instead of beating the bush for ’possum, he headed straight for the camp.  He heard the Rangers off to the left, as he emerged from the bush.  The men were laughing and talking.  Butler reached the camp ahead of them.  When they came in they were amazed to see him stretched out comfortably in front of the campfire, taking his ease.

“I thought you were hunting ’possum,” cried Polly.

“I thought you were hunting ’possum,” laughed the others.

The men looked into each others’ faces, then burst out laughing.

“Where’s the other one?” meaning Rector, who like Tad was to drive the ’possums in.