"There's somebody down there," he whispered, after a long interval
of slow creeping over the rocks. "I wonder who it is? Perhaps they
are looking for me. I'll give them a surprise if they are."

The surprise, however, was to be Tad's.

At last he reached the edge of the little butte. Slowly stretching
his neck and lying flat on his stomach, he peered over.

A cloud of black smoke rolled up into his face, causing the lad to
withdraw hastily.

"Aka-c-h-e-w," sneezed Tad, burying his face in his hands.

"Whew, what a smudge! I'll bet they heard that sneeze."

"What's that?" demanded a gruff voice below. "Sounded like somebody
sneezing."

"No, it's an owl," replied another. "I've heard that kind
before. Sometimes you'd think it was a fellow snoring."

"Must be funny kind of a bird," grunted the first speaker.

"He's right. That's exactly what I am," growled Tad, who had plainly
overheard their conversation. Yet he was thankful that the men below
had not realized the truth. Tad was quite willing to be mistaken for
a bird under the circumstances.