“That’s queer,” muttered Butler.

“What is queer, Tad?” questioned the professor.

“The way he went.”

“His leave taking was rather abrupt.  But we know that is a way these Rangers have.  Besides he thought there was trouble in the air,” guessed the professor.

“Yes, but then why did he run away from it?” urged Butler.

“That’s so, he did go the wrong way,” wondered Ned.

“Maybe he’s going to take a roundabout course,” suggested Stacy.

“Exactly.  You do think now and then, don’t you?” smiled the professor.  “However, it is not for us to criticize.  Captain McKay knows his business perhaps much better than do we.  And now, if you are ready we had better be on our way.  We have lost no little time here.”

The packing up was not a long job for not much of their equipment had been unloaded.  The rest of the day passed uneventfully, the Pony Rider Boys continuing along the range of mountains.

About five o’clock they decided to make camp in a valley, beside a stream of clear, cold water.  The place was thickly covered with brush and small trees, excepting for a small open space on which the grass grew high and green.

They pitched their tent near the stream.  This done the boys began gathering dry wood for the campfire which would need a lot of it before the evening came to an end.  Wood was scarce and darkness had overtaken them ere they succeeded in getting enough for their needs.  In the meantime the professor had been laboring with the tent.  He had finished his job quickly, rather to the surprise of the boys, who were chuckling over the mess Professor Zepplin would make of it.  The professor, however, was far from helpless.  He might not be suspicious of every one he met, but he was a man of brains.  He knew how to get along with his young charges, as perhaps few men would have done.  And he did get along, without friction, retaining the love of every one of the Pony Rider Boys.  They were always ready to play pranks on the professor, yet there was not a lad of them but would have laid down his life, if necessary, for him.

He insisted on getting the supper, “just to keep my hand in,” as he expressed it.  No one offered strenuous objection to this, though no cook ever had a more appreciative audience.  The professor’s biscuits were beautiful to behold, but when the boys came to sample them they shouted.

“Too much soda, Professor,” cried Tad.

“No, baking powder,” corrected Ned.

“Wow!  I know what you’re trying to do.  You’re trying to blow us up!” howled Stacy.  “Why don’t you use dynamite in the biscuit while you are about it?  I think I’ll go out and browse with the ponies.  It’s much safer and I’ll bet will taste better.”

“Young man, if you don’t like the cooking, you don’t have to eat, you know,” rebuked Professor Zepplin.

“Yes, I do, too.  What, not eat, and with an appetite like mine?  Why, I’d eat my pistol holster if I couldn’t get anything else.  Speaking of eating that reminds me of a story—–­”