“There isn’t an Indian anywhere around here.  I know it.  They would have been after us long before this, if there had been.”

One by one the boys came from their hiding places, the lazy Mexican last.  Disapproving eyes were turned on Stacy.

“Chunky, you come along and show us where you were when you shot—­ did you shoot at an Indian?” asked Tad.

“Yes, and I—­ I—­ I shot him.”

“Show us.  We’re all from Chillicothe,” demanded Ned.

Stacy, with a show of importance, led the way, keeping a wary eye out for the enemy.  It was noticed, however, that each of the lads held his rifle ready for business in case there should be an enemy about.

“There!  I was standing right over there—­ I guess.”

“You guess!  Don’t you know?” questioned the Professor.

“Yes; that’s the place.”

The lad walked over to the identical spot from which he had first fired his rifle.

“He was over there and I shot at him, so,” said Stacy, leveling the weapon.  “Ye-ow!  There he is, now!” shrieked the boy.

Every weapon flashed up to a level with the eyes.

“There is something over there on the ground,” decided the Professor.

“Put down your guns so you don’t shoot me,” said Tad.  “I’m going to find out what it is.”

Keeping his own weapon held at “ready,” the lad walked boldly over to where a heap of some sort lay on the plain.  It surely had not been there during the afternoon—­ Tad knew that.

He reached it, stooped, peered, then uttered a yell.

“What is it” they cried, hurrying up.

“You’ve done it now, Chunky Brown.  You certainly have gone and done it.”

“What—­ what is it?” cried the others in alarm.

“You’ve shot the lazy Mexican’s burro.  That’s your Indian, Stacy Brown.”

Juan, who had followed them out on the plain, uttered a wail and threw himself upon the body of his prostrate burro.  The animal, it seemed, had recovered consciousness during the night, and in a half-dazed condition had wandered out on the plain.  Stacy, while crouching down on the ground, had seen the head and long ears of the burro.  He thought the ears were part of the head dress of a savage and let fly a volley of bullets at it.

“He—­ he isn’t dead,” shouted the fat boy.  “See, I just pinked him in the ears.”

And, surely enough, an examination revealed a hole through each ear.  The holes were so close to the animal’s head that it was reasonable to suppose the shot had stunned him, being already in a weakened condition from the sleepy grass.

The boys set to work to rouse the burro, which they succeeded in doing in a short time.  Juan, with arm around the lazy beast’s neck, led it back to camp, petting and soothing it with a chattering that they could not understand.

There was no more sleep in camp that night, though the boys turned in at the Professor’s suggestion.  Every little while, laughter would sound in one of the tents, as the others fell to discussing Stacy’s Indian attack.