“Nothing.  I’ll tell him about Bill Collins myself.  Just say that everything is all right and ask him to get Katharine on the telephone.”

Again there was a pause.  “He’s got her,” said Charley.

“Please tell Katharine,” said the ranger, “that it was necessary to stay in camp with you to-night.  Ask how she and the little girl are.”

While his friends sat in silence before the crackling fire, Charley took the message.  “Katharine says that everything is all right and they are well.  She thanks the fire patrols for taking care of her husband.”

Charley said good-night and laid down his receivers.  “Your wife is a pippin,” he said with a smile as he turned toward the ranger.  “I don’t wonder you like her.  Think of her thanking us for taking care of you.  Why, we’d be scared to death if we were here alone, with that confounded hyena howling out there in the bushes.  She must be a brave little woman.  She didn’t seem a bit worried because you hadn’t come home.”

“I guess she had an idea I wouldn’t get back to-night,” said the ranger.  “You know it’s a pretty good hike for one day.”

Charley knew well enough that Mr. Morton was trying to mislead him.  He saw at once that the kind-hearted ranger had intended to spend the night in camp.  But not knowing what to say, he turned in silence to the pup, which evidently smelled the wildcat, and tried to quiet him.

“You can be glad that you’ve got that dog,” said the ranger.  “I don’t think that cat will come any closer, for it can smell the dog as well as the meat.  Take care of him and make him useful.  Now we’d better turn in, for we must pull foot early in the morning.”

“Let’s first see if our clay is baked,” suggested Charley.

Charley scattered the embers and rolled the clay ball out of the ashes with a stick.  It was baked as hard as a brick.  The ranger folded up the newspaper which he had used as an outer wrapper for the meat, and picked up the ball with the paper.  Lew held the candle lantern close while the ranger examined the clay.  Slowly he turned the ball around, picking at it with his knife blade.

“Who made this ball?” he asked suddenly.

“I did,” said Charley.

“Did Lew touch it at all?”

“I can’t recall that he did.”

“No; I never laid a finger on it,” said Lew.  “Charley rolled it and carried it here himself.”

“Let me see your thumbs, Charley,” said the ranger.

Charley, puzzled, held them up for inspection.  The ranger examined them closely.  “Now let me have that little microscope of yours,” he continued.

Charley handed it to the ranger, who studied the clay ball intently through the glass, then as carefully looked at Charley’s thumb.  Then he chuckled.  “We’ve taken another king in this little checker game,” he said.  “Look at that.”

While Mr. Morton held the lantern for them, the two boys studied the burned ball of clay.  On it were a number of distinct thumb-prints, now turned into solid brick by the action of the fire.  The boys looked at each other questioningly and then at Mr. Morton.