“Not very much fun—this,” commented Rick, as he and Chot tossed rock after rock aside. “Like prisoners working on a stone pile; isn’t it?”  
“Oh, I don’t know,” slowly answered Chot, as he straightened up to ease his aching back. “We don’t have to do it if we don’t want to, Rick.”
 
“Yes, that’s so,” agreed the other lad. “Here, Ruddy, what are you trying to do?” he asked, for the setter was acting¹ in a peculiar² manner standing³ at attention in front of a hole that ran under the roots of a gnarled tree. Ruddy was growling⁵ in a low voice and he showed every indication of anger, not unmixed with alarm.
 
“Let’s go over and see what he’s got,” suggested Chot.
 
“I only hope it isn’t a skunk⁶,” murmured Rick. “He fooled me that way once and—whew—I’ve never forgotten it! Oh, boy!”
 
“I don’t smell anything,” remarked Chot, hopefully.
 
“No, not yet,” assented⁷ Rick with a laugh. “And when you do smell it—then it’s too late. But I reckon it isn’t a skunk. If it was he’d have been into action long before this. Mr. Skunk doesn’t stand much monkeying. He’ll give you two fair warnings before he shoots and then, if you’re foolish enough not to mind them he unlimbers his heavy artillery⁸. Here, Ruddy, keep back until I can see what it is under there!” ordered Rick.
 
The dog looked toward the boys as they left the stone pile, growled⁹ again and then obediently moved away from the hole into which he had, evidently, seen some animal retreat, or perhaps he had chased it there himself, since Rick and Chot had not paid much attention to him.
 
The two boys cautiously approached the hole under the roots of the old, gnarled tree which grew out of the side of the hill not far from the pile of rocks. As he drew near Rick began sniffing¹¹ the air cautiously, for, as he said, he had had one experience with a skunk that Ruddy stirred up, and did not want another.
 
“There’s a wild animal smell, but I don’t believe it comes from a skunk,” was Rick’s opinion as he drew near the hole. “Can you reach me a stick, Chot?”
 
“Here,” answered his chum, passing over a long slender tree branch. Rick poked¹² it down in the hole, turned it around and jabbed it in as far as it would go. Nothing came out, not even a sound.
 
“Guess it’s a false alarm,” suggested Chot.
 
“Maybe so. Yet Ruddy isn’t the kind of a dog to bark up the wrong tree or down the wrong hole. Maybe the stick isn’t long enough.”
 
The lads looked around until they found a larger pole, Ruddy, meanwhile, watching them curiously¹³ and interestedly. But though Rick and Chot took turns poking¹⁴ sticks down the hole, turning them this way and that, and jabbing them in, not a sound—not a growl⁴ or snarl—came out from among the twisted roots.
 
Ruddy stood near his two friends, made little darts¹⁵ forward at the hole at every motion on the part of the boys, and whimpered in eager anticipation¹⁶, growling now and then and, anon, permitting himself the challenge of a bark. But it was all to no purpose.
 
“I guess there’s nothing here,” said Chot at last. “We’d better get back to our stone pile.”
 
“There has been something here,” said Rick. “I can smell that wild animal smell.”
 
“Like in a circus tent,” suggested Chot.
 
“That’s it—sure! But whatever it was has gone out I reckon.”
 
“Animals have back doors to their dens¹⁷; don’t they?” asked Chot.
 
“I reckon they do—this one must have had, anyhow.”
 
“What do you think it was, Rick?”
 
“Oh, a fox, maybe.”
 
“Couldn’t it be a bob cat?”
 
“You mean a lynx?”
 
“Yep.”
 
“Sure, it could. Maybe it was. Well, we’ll let it go this time, seeing it got away!” laughed Rick. “Come on, Ruddy, chase yourself around and get up an appetite for dinner,” and he threw a stick down the side of the hill, the boys laughing at the dog’s eagerness to retrieve¹⁸ it.
 
“Do you mind doing this, Chot?” asked Rick, when they were again busy on the stone pile, tossing and prying¹⁹ aside the rocks.
 
“Not a bit—why?”
 
“Well, it isn’t much fun to ask you out west on a vacation and then set you to heaving rocks.”
 
“We aren’t doing this for work—it’s because we want to find out something,” declared Chot. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
 
“No, I don’t. If we can only show Uncle Tod how to get back the water of Lost River—cracky! Wouldn’t he be surprised?”
 
“I’ll say he would!” ejaculated Chot.
 
It was no easy task the boys had set for themselves, for the stone pile was large, and many of the boulders²⁰ in it were of great size. But they were Scouts²¹ and not accustomed to give up a task just because it was difficult.
 
The smaller stones they tossed out of their way, and the larger ones, some only after many trials, were rolled down the side of the valley after being dislodged by tree-bra............