He had hardly had spoken the words when a form came through the entrance
to the tent. Chester was about to speak, for he thought at first that it
was Hal, but something seemed to tell him to remain silent. The lad,
therefore, said nothing.

At second glance Chester realized that the figure that had entered the
tent was not Hal. Neither was it Stubbs.

"Great Scott!" muttered the lad to himself. "Wonder who he is and
what he wants here? He hasn't seen me though. Guess I'll wait and see
what happens."

The lad stretched out a hand carefully and drew toward him a camp stool
upon which he had laid his clothes before going to bed. Without a sound
he secured one of his revolvers and straightened to a sitting posture.

"I'm ready for whatever happens," he told himself.

The intruder had now taken up such a position in the tent as to command a
view of the entrance, shielded from sight himself. Chester saw something
glisten in the man's hand.

"Gun," said the boy to himself. "Guess I can beat him to it."

Came footsteps without. They stopped just outside the tent. Chester
saw the nocturnal visitor in the tent raise his revolver arm. Chester
did likewise.

"I'll just shoot that gun out of your hand, my friend," he said quietly.