The Professor came in, searching for other curios just as Stacy went out to examine his "little axe," as he was pleased to call it. He tried the edge of it on the ledge to find out if the stone would dull it, but it did not.

"I'll use that to cut nails and wire with when I get back home,"

decided the boy. "Guess I'll chop my name in the side of the mountain here." Stacy proceeded to do so, the others being too much engrossed in their explorations to know or care what he was about. He succeeded very well, both in making letters on the wall and in putting several nicks in the edge of his new-found hatchet.

He was thus engaged when all at once something struck the axe hurling it from his hand. At the same instant a rifle crashed off somewhere below and to the southeast of him.

"Ouch!" exclaimed the fat boy holding his hand. "Wonder who did that?"

His mind had not coupled the shot with the blow on the hatchet.

Bang!

A bullet flattened itself close to his head, against the rock.

With a howl, the lad threw himself down on the ledge.

At that instant Kris Kringle sprang to the opening of the cave.

"What does this mean?" he snapped.

"I don't know. Somebody knocked the axe out of my hand then shot at me."

The guide discovered the trouble right there. A bullet snipped his hat from his head; and, striking the ceiling of the cave-home, dropped to the floor with a dull clatter.

Kris Kringle ducked with amazing quickness. Crawling back into the cave, he reached for his own rifle and then sought the opening, taking good care not to expose himself to the fire of the unseen enemy.

Stacy, on his part, had lost no time in getting to a place of safety inside, though he was prudent enough to crawl instead of getting up and walking in.

"What does this mean? It can't be possible that anyone is deliberately shooting at us?" questioned Professor Zepplin in undisguised amazement.

"If you doubt it step outside," suggested Kris Kringle. "Master Stacy and myself know what they tried to do, don't we, lad?"

"We do."

The fat boy again swelled with importance.

"Look out you don't swell up so big you'll break your harness," warned Ned.

"Better break it than have it shot off," mumbled Stacy.

"Who can it be?"

"I can't say, Professor."

"It's our friends from the fire dance," was Tad's expressed conviction.

"Told you they'd be here," nodded Chunky. "Why don't you shoot at them?"

"Going to, in a minute. Got to find out where they are first."

Now the lads were excited in earnest. Some one was shooting at them, and the guide was going to fire back. This was more than they had expected when they visited the home of the cave-dweller.

"Let me take a crack at 'em," begged Chunky. "I owe 'em one."

"Master Stacy, you will do nothing of the sort," reproved the Professor sternly. "The idea!"

"No; if there's any shooting to be done I'll do it," announced Kris Kringle.

"And Santa Claus isn't shooting with any toy gun, this time," chuckled Chunky.

"Can you see the camp, to know if anyone is there?"

"Yes, but only part of it, Professor. I wish you would all get over into the right hand corner there and lie flat on the floor. I'm going to try to draw their fire so that I can locate them. Can't afford to waste ammunition until we are reasonably sure where our mark is."

The others quickly got into the position indicated.

Placing his hat on one of the pike poles, Kringle slowly pushed it outside.

There was no result, The ruse failed to draw the enemy's fire.

"Oh, they've gone. We're a lot of babies," jeered Ned, jumping up and starting for the opening.

Kris Kringle gave him a push with the b.u.t.t of the rifle.

"Want, to get shot full of holes? Wait! I'll show you."

The guide sprang up, showing himself out on the ledge for one brief instant then throwing himself flat.

A sharp "ping" against the rocks, followed by a heavy report, told the story. The guide had been not a second too soon in getting out of harm's way, for the bullet would have gone right through him had he remained standing.

Quick as a flash Kringle's rifle leaped to his shoulder, and he fired.

He had taken quick aim at a puff of smoke off toward the camp.

Not content with one shot he raked the bushes all about where the puff of smoke had been seen, emptying the magazine of the rifle in a few seconds.

Stacy Brown was fairly dancing with glee.

"Did you hit anything?" asked the boys breathlessly.

"Of course, I hit something; but whether I winged an Indian or not, I don't know. If I did, he probably is not seriously wounded. You'll hear a redskin yell when he's. .h.i.t bad."

"That one I punched didn't. He was. .h.i.t hard," volunteered Stacy.

"He didn't have time," grinned Tad. "You were too quick for him."

"Look out! There comes a volley!" warned Mr. Kringle.

The boys, led by the Professor tumbled into the corner in a heap, while the lead pattered in through the opening, rattling with great force like a handful of pebbles.

"They're getting in a hurry," averred the Professor.