"No, you don't, Stacy Brown. You stay right here. You would get lost
before you got out of sight of the camp. I don't want to be left
alone here, with nothing but a pair of long-eared mules for company."

Stacy shrugged his shoulders and began idly cutting his name in the
bark of a tree with his knife.

"Funny we haven't heard Ned shoot in some time," said Walter after a
long interval of silence. "He must be working his way back. Think
so?"

"Nope," answered Stacy, still engaged with the knife.

"You don't? Why not."

"Hasn't got any more shells, that's why."

"I don't understand."

"He shot six times, didn't he?"

"Let's see--yes, I believe he did."

"Well, that's all the bullets he had in the gun. He'll have to throw
stones if he sees anything else to shoot at."

A startled expression appeared on Walter Perkins's face.

"You're right, Chunky. But why don't he come back, then?"