The camp prowler stood up straight, staring to see whence the next stone would come.
After nearly two minutes he bent to pick up the case of biscuit that he had dropped.
Smack! Even as his nearer hand touched the box a sharp stone struck the back of that hand, cutting a gash and causing the blood to spurt.
"I'll have your scalp for that!" howled the enraged man.

Making a pretty good guess at the direction from which the stone had come, the fellow started toward the brush on a run.
"Here's where you get all of yours!" chuckled Harry Hazelton.
Still crouching he let three stones fly one after the other.
The first struck the prowler in the mouth, the second on the end of the nose and the third over the pit of his stomach.
"You two-legged Gatling gun!" howled the fellow, shaking with rage and pain.

He halted, shaking his fist in the direction from which the stones had come.
Another lot of stones flew toward him.

The prowler waited no longer, but turned, making for Gage's camp as fast as he could go.
"That ought to hold those rascals for a little while," speculated Harry.

"But, of course, there'll be a come-back.