"Pardon me, but what do you want with a light?" inquired Prescott,
at the same time pushing the stranger forward on his face. Dick
now seated himself on the other's shoulders.

"Don't make a fuss," Prescott advised. "I like to think myself
a gentleman, and I don't want to muss you up too much."

The stranger laughed. It was an easy, confident laugh that destroyed
a bit of the Gridley boy's sense of mastery.

"What are you doing, up at this time of night?" asked the stranger.

"Minding my own business, in my own camp," Dick replied easily.
"And what are you doing here? Whose business are you minding?"

"My own, too, I reckon," replied the prowler more gruffly.

"In other words, attending to your hunger?" pressed Prescott.

"I'm looking out that I don't have too much hunger to-morrow,"
came the now half sullen answer.

"Is this the way you usually get your food?" Dick demanded dryly.

"This is the way I get most of it," came the reply.

"Stealing it, eh?"

"Well, what of it?" came the sulky retort. "The world owes me
a living."