"Yes, he saved my life," breathed Walter. "You all did your share too."

"There's one thing I should like to do more than anything else,"

interrupted Ned, changing the subject.

"And that?" inquired the Professor.

"To shoot a bear."

"Wow!" exclaimed Chunky.

"And so should I," agreed Tad, his blue eyes opening wide. "The biggest thing I ever shot was a woodchuck."

"You will have a chance to do some hunting soon," replied the guide. "We shall be on the hunting grounds in a day or so, if we have good luck, and none of you falls off a mountain. Then I am going to show you some real sport."

"Oh, that will be fine," chorused the boys.

"I believe I should like to try my hand at it, too," added the Professor. "Do you know, young gentlemen, I have not been on a hunting trip since I hunted wild boar in the Black Forest with General von Moltke! You may talk about the savagery of your native bear. But, for real brutality, I recommend the wild boar."

"Yes, but wait a minute," objected Ned Rector, his face sobering.

"How are we going to hunt? We have no guns to hunt with.

Mr. Thomas has the only rifle in the party."

"That's so," agreed Tad. "I hadn't thought of that. I should have brought my old rifle with me."

The guide smiled good-naturedly and motioned to Jose.

"Do you know where that long package marked 'hard tack' is, Jose?" he asked.

The cook said he did.

"Bring it to me," directed Lige so low that the others did not catch his words.

The package was placed on the ground at Lige's side a moment later.

"What is it?" asked Chunky, stretching his neck so he could look over the table.

"Your curiosity will be the death of you some day if you don't correct the habit," warned Ned. "If you'll use your eyes you will observe that the package contains hard tack, and----"

However, something in the shape of the four wrapped objects taken from the bundle, and laid on the ground, did not exactly correspond with their idea of what hard tack looked like.

The boys rose full of curiosity.

"Wha--what----" gasped Ned.

"It's--guns!" fairly shouted Tad Butler.

Sure enough, it was.

Undoing the other three packages, the guide laid before their astonished eyes four handsome thirty-eight calibre repeating rifles.

The boys looked at each other questioningly.

At first they could scarcely believe it to be true.

"Are--are they for us--for us to use?" stammered Tad.

"That's what they're for, young gentlemen," smiled the guide. "You surely didn't expect to go hunting without guns, did you? At the Professor's suggestion I have been keeping them as a sort of surprise for you."

"Three cheers for Lige Thomas and Professor Zepplin," cried Ned Rector, in which the boys joined with a will, their shouts echoing back to them from the rocky peaks on the other side of the gulch.

"Rifles and ponies! We surely ought to be happy!" laughed Tad, with flashing eyes. "Any boy with those two things wouldn't change places with a king, would he, fellows?"

"No!" answered the Pony Riders at the top of their voices. "Not even for a whole monarchy!"

Lige was beset by a perfect clamor of questions as to when they were to have a chance to try the guns on real game.

"One at a time--one at a time," begged the guide. "First I must find out how well you boys can shoot. Has any of you ever handled a gun before?"

"I have," spoke up Tad promptly.

"And I," added Ned Rector.

"I've done a little shooting with my thirty-two calibre," said Walter. "But I don't call myself much of a shot."

"And how about you, Master Stacy?" smiled the guide.

"I? Why, I can shoot a bull's eye with a how and arrow. But somehow, when I try to fire a real gun, I can't help shutting my eyes before the thing goes off."

"That's bad."

"Then I don't hit anything--that is, not the thing I want to hit,"

he added humorously, at which there was a loud laugh from the other boys.

"Won't do at all," decided the guide with a shake of the head. "You will have to learn to do better than that before we take you out."

"Yes, he'll have to before I go gunning with him," growled Ned Rector. "Any man who shuts his eyes when he's getting ready to shoot, is no friend of mine, especially if I happen to be in the neighborhood."

"Yes," agreed Lige. "We'll have to go out for a little practice--this morning if you wish. I guess we can spare the time. But we must not waste too much of it, as we have an eighteen mile journey ahead of us over a rough trail, and I want to reach Bald Mountain before night.

To-morrow will be Sunday, and we must have a nice camping place, as you will want to rest and get ready for the busy week ahead of us. At any rate, you boys can try out the guns this morning and get the sights regulated. Jose bring me a box of those thirty-eights, will you?"

Wistful glances were cast at the pasteboard box, as the boys fondled the guns, worked the cartridge ejectors, examined the magazines and looked over the sights at imaginary game.

"Better fall to, now, and strike camp, so the pack train can go on ahead," advised the guide. "When we finish shooting you can strap your guns to the saddles, or carry them over your backs, as you prefer. You see they have a leather on them for the purpose."

There were no doubts in the minds of the Pony Riders as to how they would carry the weapons. As they set about obeying the instructions of the guide, they pictured themselves riding over the mountains like a troop of cavalry, rifles hanging across their backs, following the trail of a band of real Indians.

The camp was struck in record time that morning, and the tents, neatly rolled, soon were strapped to the backs of the sleepy burros. Jose attended to the packing of the commissary.