Soon the flames leaped up, throwing their ruddy, cheerful glow over the camp and making dancing shadows beyond under the trees.
While they were still chatting over the day's doings, steps were heard, followed by the arrival in camp of two rough-looking, stern-faced men.

Dave Darrin sprang to pick up a club.
"You boys haven't been doing anything wrong, have you ?" questioned one of the men, with a trace of a smile.
"Of course not," Dick indignantly replied.
"Then you needn't be afraid of us, though I admit that we do look rough," answered the same man, displaying a badge.

"We're officers of the law." "What can we do for you, sir ?" Prescott inquired more respectfully.
"Do you boys know anything about Tag Mosher ?" demanded the same speaker.
"Son of Bill Mosher ?" Dick counter-queried.
"The same.

Know anything about him ?" "Nothing, except that he bothered us a good deal when we were first camped here," Prescott replied.
"Do you know him by sight, then ?" "We all do." "When was Tag here last ?" pressed the officer.
"About three days ago," Dick answered.

"He stole quite a bit of our food supply." "That's an old trick of that young tough," rejoined the deputy sheriff.