no siree, bob!"

Max looked admiringly, also affectionately at the speaker. If there was
one trait he liked about Steve, it was his indomitable pluck. The boy
was absolutely afraid of nothing that walked, flew, or crawled. He was
as bold as a lion, but very indiscreet. He often reminded Max of a small
terrier attacking a big St. Bernard, and snapping viciously all the
while. Yes, Steve was a bundle of nerves, and not to be daunted.

"I honestly believe you would stick it out if it took all summer,
Steve," he remarked, laying a hand on the other's arm.

"Excuse me, then," declared Bandy-legs. "This thing wears on my nerves
like everything. I'll soon be skin and bones if it keeps up. Somebody
tell me what that big thief wanted with me last night, when he grabbed
my leg, and started to haul me out of the tent? That's what bothers me.
He seems to've got a spite against me in particular. I bet you he's got
his wicked eye on me, right at this blessed minute."

"Oh, p'r'aps he thought it was a ham he grabbed hold of," remarked
Steve, flippantly, as he pointed to Bandy-legs' rather plump lower
limbs, of which he was rather vain, in spite of their shortness.

But for once Bandy-legs did not laugh at a joke that was on himself. The
matter appeared too serious for trifling. How could he ever go to sleep
peacefully when expecting to be aroused suddenly by a terrible tug, and
feel himself being dragged along the ground, just as though seized by a
striped tiger of the East Indian jungle?

"I see there's only one way to be on the safe side," he was muttering