"Say, are you really going to tackle him, Max?"

"Oh! I don't know," replied the other, carelessly, yet with a firm ring to
his voice, and a determined look on his face. "If he's lying in wait to
ambush us, we might as well turn the tables around, and start the ball
rolling ourselves."

"But--gosh! he might have a gun!" suggested Bandy-legs.

"Let's hope not," Max went on, cheerfully; "because that would be unfair,
as we've left all our shooting-irons in camp. Anyhow, it might pay us to
put a bold face on the matter. So come along, Bandy-legs."

"W-w-who's afraid?" gurgled the other, trying to look and act like his
chum, though the effort was not wholly a success.

Accordingly the two boys advanced straight toward the clump of bushes
bordering on the camp trail, and which were overrun by the luxuriant vine.

"There he is again, Max!" hissed Bandy-legs.

"Yes, I see him; and I reckon now that it's only that half-grown boy again,
after all, Bandy-legs."

The other gave a sigh, perhaps of relief.

"Guess you hit the nail on the head that time, when you said what you did;
because it's sure enough no big-bearded man waiting to hold us up. Wonder
what he wants with us, Max?"