who was usually so good natured, "who's got a better right to that cap, I'd
like to know, than the boy that owns it. Put yourself in his place, Toby,
and tell me if you wouldn't just grab your own cap if you saw it? Course
you would--we all would, and I don't blame the kid a little bit."

"Too bad he didn't like the looks of our crowd," Steve remarked.

"What makes you think he didn't?" Owen asked, smiling.

"Well, he acted like he was afraid of us," replied Steve.

"T-t-tell you what, boys, I reckon it wasn't our looks, after all, that
s-s-scared him, though Bandy-legs does resemble a terrible p-p-pirate when
he wears that old zebra s-s-sweater of his."

"Then what did?" demanded the one who had been thus picked out as a special
mark, while he ran a hand fondly up and down the sleeve of the
white-and-black striped garment, worn in spite of the heat of the day.

"Our g-g-guns!" broke out Toby triumphantly.

"That's a good guess, Toby," remarked Max. "Perhaps the boy believes we're
some sort of deputy sheriffs, and up here to give the man he's with
trouble. Anyhow, I have a pretty good idea myself that it was our guns that
made him so shy."

"All right," remarked Steve, "the pitcher may go to the well once too
often. You mark my words, if he keeps on sniffing around our camp much
longer he'll get caught."