"Why, that's our outfits---the one we're going to join, I mean,"
cried Hazelton.

"I hope Pete isn't the cook, then," remarked Tom fastidiously.
"He doesn't look as though he takes a very kindly interest in
soap."

"Sh-h-h!" begged Harry. "I'll tell you, he'll hear you."

"See here," Tom went on, this time addressing the driver, "you've
told us that you don't know just where to find the S.B. & L. field
camp. If Mr. Peter Bad hangs out with the camp then he ought
to be able to direct us."

"You can ask him, of course," nodded the Colorado boy.

Soon after the horses covered the distance needed to bring them
close to the bend. Now the driver hauled in his team, and, blocking
the forward wheels with a fragment of rock, began to give his
attention to the harness.

Bad Pete had consented to glance their way at last. He turned
his head indolently, emitting a mouthful of smoke. As if by instinct
his right hand dropped to the butt of a revolver swinging in a
holster over his right hip.

"I hope he isn't bad tempered today!" shivered Harry under his
breath.

"I beg your pardon, sir," galled Tom, "but can you tell us-----"