“He’s hunting ’possum,” answered Tad.  An hour later Ned Rector came sauntering in.

“Hullo, did you drive out any ’possum?” called Cad.

“Narry a ’poss,” answered Ned carelessly.  “I thought I’d leave them for you fellows.  I didn’t want to hog the whole game, you know.”

“Are the other two holding the bags open?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose they are.  They’ll be even with you for that,” answered Ned.

“By the way, Mr. Withem,” said Tad strolling towards him, “I thought we were going to meet Captain McKay here.”

“The captain is not here,” replied the lieutenant with some reservation in his tone.

“Will he be here before we leave?”

“I can’t say.  Captain Billy may be here in the morning, then again he may not.  If you miss him here, he will see you some other time.  He wants to know you, pardner,” smiled the lieutenant.  “Where is the fat boy?”

“Holding the ’possum bag down in the bush,” answered Tad with a grim smile.

The Rangers were pulling off their boots and one by one crawling into the single tent that did duty as a bedroom for all except the officers, who had a small tent to themselves.  The boys were chuckling to themselves.  They thought they had a good joke on at least one of the Pony Rider Boys, and perhaps they had.

About two hours after the men had returned to camp, Walter Perkins, with an exclamation of disgust, threw down his bag.

“Let them catch their own ’possums,” he said.  “I don’t believe there are any ’possums in this country to catch.  Even if there were we never could get them in a bag this way.  I’ll bet they have been playing a joke on me.  I’m going back to camp.”

Half an hour later, Chunky, his back aching like a sore tooth, straightened up with evident effort.  The fat boy began to see a light, other than that furnished by the candle.

“I guess I’m the goat,” he said regarding the bag reflectively.  “Yes, I am the goat all right.”

Picking up the candle, Stacy peered into the bag, then he thought some more.  The inside of the bag was literally alive with insects.  The fat boy quickly closed the bag, twisting the mouth tight and tying it fast with a string.  Then blowing out the candle, he shouldered the bag, setting off for camp as Walter had done some thirty minutes before.  But Stacy failed to observe the figure of a man near by as the boy stepped out on the plain.  This figure followed along behind him at a safe distance, the man chuckling to himself as he watched the boy and the bag.  The mysterious stranger was the Ranger lieutenant.

Reaching the silent camp, Stacy slunk in, apparently seeking to avoid being seen.  The grinning lieutenant saw the boy slip cautiously to the tent occupied by the sleeping Rangers.  There the fat boy very carefully deposited his ’possum bag, first having opened the mouth of it, after which he slipped away to his own tent and crawled into bed.  But Stacy did not go to sleep at once.  He lay there listening, gazing up at the roof of the tent through which he could make out the faint light of the sky.