The "big dipper" pointed to 3 o'clock. Throwing on some more fuel the fire blazed high. Chiquita thrust her head out of the environments of the fur bag and sat up in the willow retreat. "Me want 'em drink; mouth heap dry," was the laconic remark she made to Jack as he acknowledged her wakefulness. Giving her a cup of water, he referred to the visitor just departed, to which she scornfully replied: "Heap big coward, big cat with long tail. Little cat with short tail all same like this bag, no coward. Big cat all same you call 'em lion, no catch 'em ponies, Indian or white man, all time afraid. Big cat catch 'em rabbit, lame deer. Mebbe so heap hungry tackle 'em big elk; drop from big tree on elk back. Big cat, little cat, wolf, bear, no come near camp fire. Look at camp fire long way off. Chiquita no fraid when all 'lone." With this piece of information, with which Jack was already acquainted, they both resumed their interest in the land of Nod. The bright winter sun had not mounted far enough in the heavens to shed any warm rays into the camp when Jack pulled on his boots and poked the fire preparatory to an early breakfast. The ponies did not look as if dyspepsia troubled them, nor did Jack feel overburdened with belly worship. The little larder was a hollow mockery to the knockings of a ravenous appetite. Jack concluded that a well-fed discretion was better than hungry haste, so he meandered down the river in search of a rabbit, while Chiquita attended to her morning ablutions. About the time that the average city girl would have consumed with curling tongs, cashmere bouquet and in getting her hat on straight, Jack returned with a nice fat "jack" of the _lepus cuniculus_ family, all ready for the coals. It did not take long to cook the choice cuts from the delectable portions of "Bunny." The seasoning was rather crude, consisting of powder taken from a misfire cartridge, which Jack happened to have in his belt. But "saltpeter in gunpowder is better than no salt at all" is an old axiom among hunters. This addition to the "hollow mockery" larder sent their spirits up to the top of the goodfellowship thermometer. "A burned hare is worth two in the bush," said Jack, as he irreverently twisted a trite quotation and rabbit leg. But Chiquita kept right on in her argument with a section of the vertebra just roasted on a forked stick. After the first pangs of hunger had been somewhat appeased the Indian girl said to Jack, "What you call 'em little things use all same knife when eat off tin plate?" Jack recalled the fact of some cheap silver-plated forks that made up the camp kit. "Forks," he replied, adding, as Chiquita seemed to want further information, "The fair sisters of Jack no eat 'em venison with fingers, all same Chiquita. Think 'em Chiquita wild girl. When Jack come back bring 'em forks and spoons for Chiquita."