The Professor had no sooner marched Stacy to his tent to wash the mud from himself and get into a clean suit of clothes, than the sheepmen came galloping back to camp. A few of them had been left out near the foothills in case of a surprise.

"Where's that boy who sent us off on this fool chase?" demanded Luke Larue, riding right into the camp.

Chunky poked his head from the tent, holding the flap about him to cover himself.

"What did you tell us the cowmen were after us for?"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, come out here. I want to talk to you."

"I--I--I can't."

"You'd better or I'll have to fetch you out. Why can't you?"

demanded the foreman sternly.

"I--I haven't got any clothes on," stammered the boy.

The foreman slipped from his pony, leaning against a tree with a helpless expression on his face.

Stacy's companions with Mr. Simms and several of the sheepmen rode in at that moment.

"Where's that boy?" demanded the rancher of Larue.

The foreman pointed to the tent. But the lad not yet having finished his toilet, all hands were obliged to stand about waiting for him. They did so with much impatience. Stacy took all the time he needed, apparently not believing that there was any necessity for haste.

At last he sauntered out smiling broadly.

"I think you owe us an explanation, at least," announced Mr. Simms, a peculiar smile playing about the corners of his lips. He had intended to be stern, but the sight of Chunky's good-natured face disarmed him at once, as it did most people.

"'Bout what?" asked the lad.

"Sending us out to the foothills, telling us the cowmen were attacking us."

Stacy's eyes opened widely.

"Never said so."

"What did you say, then?"

"Nothing."

"I guess we are all dreaming," laughed the rancher. "Will you please tell me what did happen then, when you started us away?"

"When I was riding in, you all started up and mounted your ponies. Somebody yelled, 'where are they?' I pointed back to the mountains, and then you rode on," the lad informed him.

It was an unusually long speech for Chunky to make without many halts and pauses. But he did very well with it.

"That is exactly what you did do. When we got there we found not the slightest trace of the cowmen. Where did you see them?"

"I didn't see them," persisted the lad.

"Then why did you tell us you did?"

"I didn't."

Mr. Simms thrust his hands in his pockets and strode back and forth several times.

"Say, young man, did you see anything at all, except what your imagination furnished?"

Chunky nodded emphatically.

"What did you see?"

"Indians."

"Oh, pshaw!" grunted Mr. Simms disgustedly.

"Indians?" interrupted Walter Perkins. "Tell me about it?"

"I was asleep," began Stacy.

"So that's the way you keep watch over our herd is it?" growled Luke. "We were just about to organize a searching party to go after you, when we saw you coming."

"I got tired. I sat down by a rook and--y-a-li--hum----"

"Ho-ho-ho--hum," yawned the foreman.

Within half a minute the whole outfit was yawning lazily, all save Old Hicks, the cook, who with hands thrust into his trousers pockets stood peering at the fat boy out of the corners of his eyes.

"Stop that, d'ye hear!" snapped Ned Rector angrily. "I'll duck you in that water hole, if you don't."

"Just been ducked," answered Stacy lazily. "Got kicked in by a sheep."

"What about the Indians?" asked Tad impatiently. "I guess you dreamed you saw them."

"No, I didn't. I went to sleep by the rock and when I woke up it was daylight. I yawned."

"Of course you did," jeered Ned. "Wouldn't have been you if you hadn't yawned."

"I was rubbing my eyes and trying to make up my mind where I was when--when----"

"When what?" urged Tad.

"When somebody said, 'How?'"

The sheepmen laughed.