The woman who rapidly bore down on the two boys had fire in her eye. She evidently believed she had cause for feeling angry, since it was her dog that had gone howling toward the house.

Somehow she seemed to guess which one of the two lads had been the cause of the wretched animal’s misery. Bandy-legs had perhaps been seen in close connection with the raging beast just before the change in the latter’s tune came, and the vicious snappy bark became a frightened yelp.

“What do you mean, you young scamp, hurting my watchdog on his own ground? Don’t you know I could have the law on you for that? And what’s that you’ve got in your hand there? Looks like a pistol to me. Why, the impudence of you coming in here and actually shooting my poor Carlo!”

The farmer’s wife said all this as she continued to advance toward Bandy-legs. She was large, and looked as though she might almost take a chap of his size across her knee, if she felt like it.

Bandy-legs wanted to turn and melt away, but he hated to show the white feather the worst kind. As this was an antagonist against whom he was debarred from using force he therefore looked appealingly toward Max, who had promised to get him out of the scrape.

At the same time he held up the little contrivance he had in his hand.

“Yes’m, this is a pistol, but not the kind you mean,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, and to be as respectful as possible. “It holds just a little mite of ammonia, and is used by bicycle riders to keep savage dogs from tearing them to pieces. I had to try it on Carlo because he was just bound to take a bite out of my leg; and you know I can’t spare any.”

She looked down at Bandy-legs’ rather crooked lower extremities, and the faintest flicker of a smile crossed her angry face.

Just then Max put in an entering wedge.

“How d’ye do, Mrs. Ketcham? I didn’t expect we were coming to your house when we started out from our camp to try and get some fresh eggs and milk. Of course I did know you lived up in this region somewhere. But my chum wasn’t to blame at all, Mrs. Ketcham, I give you my word for it. And Carlo will get over the pain in a short time. I hope you won’t hold it against us.”

Apparently the farmer’s wife had not taken a good look at Max up to then. Her entire attention had been focussed on the guilty party, whom she meant to intimidate with her righteous anger.

It was astonishing what a sudden change came over her rather vinegary face as she recognized Max. The fact of the matter was, that she had been supplying his folks with fresh butter and eggs for several years, and accounted them among her best customers, going in twice a week to deliver her goods.

When poor shivering Bandy-legs saw that change in the expression of her thin face he experienced the most delightful sensation. It was similar to what a fellow might pass through when he had been hauled up from over a precipice after hanging to a bush the roots of which were slowly but surely giving way.

“Why, is it you, Max!” the woman exclaimed, her face breaking out with a smile that made her look quite like a different person; “I’m real glad to see you up at the farm. And if this other boy is a friend of yours, why, of course I’ll have to forgive him for hurting my poor old Carlo. Perhaps he had to do it, as he says; and my husband does say the dog is getting a little ugly in his old age. We’ll forget it then. What’s your friend’s name, Max? Seems to me I ought to know him.”

“He’s Doctor Griffin’s boy, Clarence,” Max hastened to reply; “and as good a fellow as any one would want to know; but he always does object to letting dogs take a piece out of his legs, and that’s why he carries that ammonia gun with him most of the time.”

“Oh! I thought I had seen him before, but I wasn’t sure,” she observed, nodding her head; “but then I should have remembered so remark that is, such a good-looking boy. And I’m going to begin delivering eggs at his house on my very next trip to Carson, too. That’s queer, isn’t it? Clarence, shake hands with me, and excuse me for seeming to be angry. We have tramps come here so often, and they always shy stones at Carlo, so that when I heard him howling I thought some of that tribe had hurt him. I can let you have all the eggs you want, just laid, and the richest Jersey milk you ever saw. Come up to the house, both of you.”

It was all smooth sailing now, and Bandy-legs was glad he had stood up for his rights. He would never have held his own respect had he allowed that beast to get a nip at him while able to fight against it, no matter whose dog he might be.

Once at the farmhouse and they were treated like honored guests. Mrs. Ketcham, as though desirous of making amends for her first outburst, insisted on their accepting a bumper glass of fresh buttermilk each; and this was accompanied by several real home-made doughnuts such as the boys had seldom tasted before.

She loaned them a covered pail so that they could carry the milk from her prize Jersey herd of cows back to camp; while several dozen snowy white eggs from Leghorn fowls were placed in a basket, and so guarded that they could not be broken by any ordinary little jolt.

It was just as well that these precautions were taken, Max thought; for he knew some of the failings of his chum, and one of them was in the line of making frequent stumbles, when there was the least reason for tripping over roots or stones that might lie in the path.

When Max and Bandy-legs finally started back to camp their pockets fairly bulged with winter apples that had been kept over in the cool cellar belonging to the farm, where fruit and vegetables were held in stock through the cold months of the winter.

“Turned out a lucky day after all, didn’t it?” remarked Max, laughingly, as they both walked along, each with one hand free to take care of the apple they were munching at the time.

“You’re right it did,” his chum replied, with fervor, and then he sighed as he continued; “but there was a time when I thought I’d tumbled out of the fryingpan into the fire. It seemed tough enough battling with Carlo; but the way she looked at me, like she could eat me up, was a whole lot worse. But then that was all put on, I guess; and anyhow I’m ready to vote Mrs. Ketcham a trump. She makes the bulliest doughnuts ever, and her buttermilk is well, it beats the Dutch!”

When they finally reached camp it was without any further adventure. They had seen no sign of any wild animal on the way, a fact Bandy-legs was glad to be able to report when Steve and Toby wanted to know about their trip.

The camp was now in good trim. Lots of little things could be done from time to time, that might add to their comfort. Nails had been driven into trees upon which they hung their cooking utensils; so that each article could be found whenever wanted. Steve had improved on the fireplace, too, having noticed that it had not been built so as to get the most favorable draught, for the prevailing winds would be apt to come from the southwest during their stay, and the front should face that way to secure the best results.

Then Toby had made a nice drain around the upper side of the tent. This was intended to shed the water in case a heavy rain set in, as it was apt to do, this being April weather. There is nothing more uncomfortable when camping than to find that the tent leaks, or that on account of the lay of the land water keeps coming in to make everything soggy, when a little precaution would have prevented such a happening.

Toby had finished his trap, and proudly exhibited the same to the chums who had just returned.

“You s-s-see,” he remarked, as he led them forward to where a young sapling seemed to be trying to form a bow in the air, held down by some invisible influence, “it’s a very old idea, and I don’t c-c-claim to be the inventor. This sapling is h-h-hickory, and she’s got a d-d-dickens of a s-s-spring too. It was all S-s-steve and me could do to bend her d-d-down so the n-n-notch I cut in the end could be caught on the p-p-peg I drove in the g-g-ground. You can see how she works, with that l-l-loop of stout rope trailin’ along here.”

“I reckon you mean to have some attractive bait on the ground, so as to draw the prowler here,” suggested Max. “Yes, I’ve read of traps like this before, though I never used one. They catch crocodiles with them in some places, besides all other kinds of things.”

“The idea is this, I take it,” Bandy-legs proceeded to say; “when the animal is nosing around after the bait he gets a leg caught in this loop, which pulls tighter and tighter the harder he jerks, till in the end it draws the notched end of the bent sapling free, and of course the same shoots up straight. That takes the animal up with it, if he happens to be small; and holds his hind quarters elevated if he’s bigger. That the way, Toby?”

“T-t-thank you for explaining it for me, Bandy-legs,” the other quickly remarked.

“I think you deserve a lot of credit for doing such a good job, Toby,” Max told the trapper, for he had taken note of the fact that everything connected with the wild animal trap seemed exceeding well done.

“And that hickory sapling does look like it was the toughest bow ever,” Bandy-legs affirmed. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could jerk a feller of even my heft up in the air, and hold him upside-down, so he’d look like he was walkin’ on his hands.”

“W-w-want to t-t-try it?” demanded the constructor, eagerly.

“You’ll have to excuse me this time,” Bandy-legs answered, apologetically; “you see I’ve been having all the exercise that’s good for me already to-day, what with the four mile walk, and that little circus with Carlo. But I’m willing to take your word for it, Toby, that it’ll do the business O.K. And I only hope now some sneaker gets his hind Trilby caught in that loop. It’d give me a whole lot of satisfaction to see a wolf or a striped hyena handing up by his rear kicker, and whooping like all get-out for help.”

The sun no longer shone in the friendly way that had marked the earlier hours of this, their first day in camp. Clouds had gathered and covered the sky, so that the air seemed even chilly.

“Feels like we might get some rain before a great while,” Max gave as his opinion, and there was no dissenting voice, much though the rest would have liked to argue the other way, for they had hoped to have a spell of fine weather accompany their trip to the woods.

“I had that in mind,” remarked Steve, “when I started to lay in a stock of good dry firewood. You see, here’s a splendid place to keep it in, under the upturned roots of this fallen tree. If the rain does come it’ll hardly heat in there, and things are apt to keep fairly dry. How about that, Max?”

“A good idea, Steve, and I say we had better get busy and gather all the stuff lying around. When you strike a rainy day in camp it’s wonderful what a lot of wood you can use up.”

“And it feels hunky to have plenty, I’m telling you,” Bandy-legs admitted. “Now, while I’m thinking up what we ought to have for supper the rest of you might just as well get busy dragging all the loose wood to cover. It’ll be good exercise, and give you a sharp appetite for the spread I’ll set before you later on.”

Perhaps the others may have considered that Bandy-legs was pretty “nervy” talking in this way, for he was known to be the poorest cook of the lot; but then he had been mysteriously hinting of late that he had been taking a course of lessons in cookery from the accomplished Nora who presided in the Griffin kitchen; and in consequence Max and Steve and Toby were quite curious to learn whether he could manage to get a decent meal together.

Things moved along smoothly, though several times Bandy-legs forgot just what the combination was, and had to call for help in order not to spoil the omelette he was making. In the end it proved to be a pretty decent supper he spread before them; and they agreed that his reputation as a chef had been considerably improved since the last time they were in the woods together up at Trapper Jim’s place.

“I told you I could do it,” Bandy-legs exultantly declared when they complimented him on his success; “there isn’t much I couldn’t do if only I really and truly set out to try.”

“I w-w-wish then you’d just make up your m-m-mind to try how strong that hickory s-s-sapling is,” urged Toby, entreatingly. “It’d give me a h-h-heap of satisfaction to j-j-just satisfy my mind. You’d be about as h-h-hefty as a wolf or a tiger, you s-s-see; and if it dragged you up all r-r-right, it ought to w-w-work with them. P-p-please accommodate me, Bandy-legs.”

But apparently his coaxing was of no avail.

“I’d like to do it all right, Toby, but while I’m not tired now like I was before, it’s too soon after supper to be yanked around, and turned upside-down that way,” Bandy-legs explained, seeming to be very reluctant.

“L-later on, mebbe, then?”

“Why, er, I’m afraid it might wake me up too much just before going to my blanket, you see, Toby. It’s a bad thing to get too active when you ought to be hitting the hay, and feel dopey. I’ve heard my dad say so lots of times. Keeps you wakeful all through the first part of the night. But that trap’s all right, I’m tellin’ you, Toby. If only some animal big enough to jerk the bow free comes along and sets his hind foot in your loop, you’re going to hear something drop.”

“I know what I’m meaning to do,” said Steve, firmly; “and that’s to keep my gun handy, so if we get waked up by a lot of screeching, like the world was coming to an end, I’ll be ready to crawl out and wind up the career of the escaped menagerie beast, whatever it turns out to be.”

“D-d-don’t you be too q-q-quick on the trigger, Steve,” pleaded Toby. “G-g-give us all a chance first to see what it’s l-l-like. Mebbe we might want to keep it alive.”

“What for?” demanded Steve, aggressively.

“A p-p-pet,” replied Toby; “lots of p-p-people have pets, and think what it’d mean to me if I g-g-got a h-h-hyena in a c-c-cage.”

“Yes, to be sure,” scoffed the unconvinced Steve, “and also think what it would mean to all the neighbors too. According to my mind the only good hyena is a dead hyena. And if so be you ketch that sort in your bully trap I’m meaning to knock spots out of the same with a charge of buckshot. That goes, too, Toby, remember!”