Cots creaked as four forms rose to sitting positions on them. There were gasping intakes of breath. Natalie, cowering amid the coverings pointed with a shaking finger toward the tent wall near her.

“There—there!” she hoarsely whispered.

“Boys! Boys!” screamed Marie. “Oh, Jack—Blake!”

“Where’s that am—am—ammonia gun?” demanded Mabel, in shivering accents.

“I—oh, where did I put it—under my pillow? No, here it is,” and from an upturned box near her cot—a box that served as bureau and chiffonier, Mrs. Bonnell caught up her weapon.

“Where is he?” she demanded of Natalie.

“There—there—he was trying to crawl under the tent! Oh, shoot!”

Something spurted from the muzzle of the odd little revolver, and a moment later there were other kinds of screams.

“Oh, my eyes!”

“My nose!”

“Oh, what awful stuff!”

“A-ker-choo” some one sneezed.

“Will it explode from the flame of the lantern?”

“Oh, Mrs. Bonnell! You aimed it right at me!”

“Did I, my dear? I guess my hand must have shaken. Oh, but it is powerful; isn’t it?”

And they all covered their streaming eyes from the fumes of the ammonia, which, confined by the closed tent, played havoc with them. Choking and gasping Mrs. Bonnell jumped up to open one of the tent flaps to let in air.

“Did—did you hit—him?” gasped Mabel.

“I—I didn’t see any one,” confessed the Guardian. “Natalie did, though.”

“I—I didn’t really see him,” murmured breath-of-the-pine-tree. “I—I heard him. Oh, please some one hand me my cold cream. I can’t see—those fumes from the ammonia are in my eyes.”

“Didn’t you see him?” demanded Marie, as she tossed a tube of the cream over on Natalie’s cot.

“No-o-o-o. There was a scratching sound, and I woke up, and—and——”

“I shot!” declared Mrs. Bonnell.

“You needn’t tell us that!” laughed Marie. “We all know it.”

“I couldn’t find the pistol at first,” went on the Guardian, “for I had it in mind to put it under my pillow, and then I was afraid it might leak, so I laid it on my ‘bureau,’” and she smilingly indicated the upturned soap box. “But I found it,” she went on.

“I’m sure whoever it was won’t come back,” spoke Alice. “Suppose we take a look.”

“Never!” cried Marie.

“Hark! What’s that?” demanded Natalie, as there sounded from without a trampling in the bushes.

“He’s coming back!” murmured Mabel. “Shoot again, Mrs. Bonnell.”

“Cover your heads, girls!” advised Marie.

“What’s the matter in there?” demanded a voice they all recognized as Jack’s. “What has happened?”

“Shall we come in?” asked Blake.

“Don’t you dare!” cried Natalie. “Wait a minute!”

Taking warning the Camp Fire Girls draped themselves more or less picturesquely in their robes.

“Look around outside, and see if you can find any one mortally wounded, Jack,” begged Marie of her brother. “Then you may just peek in, and tell us about it.”

There was a flash of a lantern outside the tent, and the voices of the three lads as they walked about the shelter.

“There he is!” Blake was heard to cry.

“Oh—oh, is he—is he—dead?” faltered Mrs. Bonnell.

“He seems just to be having a fit,” answered Phil with a chuckle.

The girls heard a commotion amid the dead leaves.

“That ammonia was very strong,” murmured Alice.

“Behold your victim!” cried Jack, parting the tent flaps, that had been allowed to fall back after the fumes had been somewhat blown away. “Behold your victim!” and by the tail, he held up to view a small fox, the hapless animal appearing to be in a sort of fit or stupor.

“Take him away! Take him away!” screamed Alice. “He’ll bite!”

“Not for some time,” replied Jack grimly. “You did for him good and proper. Some of that liquid ammonia must have gotten on him, Mrs. Bonnell.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It will be a good lesson,” went on Phil, while Jack tossed the fox into the bushes, the skin not being in good condition, and also too small to use. “He’ll be all right in a little while, and probably he won’t come prowling about the tent after dark again.”

“There used to be lots of ’em, and—er—other animals of the forest about our tent in other years,” went on Phil, “until we found that leaving scraps of food brought them. After that we buried all our refuse and they didn’t come.”

“Girls, we’ll dig a deep hole the first thing in the morning!” declared the Guardian.

“We’ll do it for you,” offered Blake. “Can we do anything more?”

“No, thank you,” murmured Natalie. “It was good of you to come.”

“Why wouldn’t we; with all that yelling?” asked Jack.

“We thought the ghost of the old mill was carrying you off,” explained Blake.

“Ugh! Don’t speak of it—we’ll never get another wink of sleep,” declared Mabel.

The boys departed, laughing and joking, and the girls tried to compose themselves to slumber, but it was not easy. However even a little rest in that glorious balsam-laden air was enough, and they awoke in the morning much refreshed.

Water had been brought from the spring the night before, and after simple toilets, simple perforce, they arranged for breakfast. The boys had brought them eggs from their supply, pending arrangements the girls would make with a near-by farmer, and with crisp bacon and coffee there was a meal that even a jaded epicure might have partaken of with delight.

All about was a freshness; the trees with their green leaves, the sparkling lake within a stone’s throw of their dining canopy and the birds flitting about overhead.

“Glorious—glorious—most glorious!” murmured Natalie. “I feel like writing a poem.”

“Compose it while you wash the dishes,” advised Marie with a laugh.

“Oh, see the flowers, growing right back of our tent!” exclaimed Mabel, as she arose from the table to gather a clump of fern and some blue blossoms, which she arranged in a cracked pitcher. “Isn’t that artistic?” she demanded.

“There’s condensed milk in that vase—pronounced vaase,” murmured Alice with a chuckle, and then a piece of bacon went down her “wrong throat,” and Mabel declared that it served her right.

“Now to get our camp in order,” called Mrs. Bonnell after the simple meal. “We must decide who will be the hewers of wood and ............