“Well, not what you’d call a banquet, Scout. But we’ll munch a few raisins and a cracker and do a Rip Van Winkle, and dream about the breakfast Mrs. Golinda’s going to give us in the morning. We’ll be up with the lark and pop in on her and meanwhile we can feed our fancies on the thought of her coffee and golden muffins and broiled ham and scrambled----” “Ow,” said the Scout, ruefully. “I wisht you wouldn’t.... I betcher she’ll give Rusty a bone, too. I like that lady an awful lot, don’t you, Ranger?” “Best in the world, Scout.” “And I like that girl that the doctor lets ride Ted, don’t you, Ranger?” “Yes,” said Dean Wolcott, “yes, son, I like that girl.” He threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Oh, boy, I like that girl!” “Me, too,” said Elmer Bunty. He was making good progress considering the fast fading light but the dark was coming down on them like a released curtain. Dean experimented with his flash and found that it gave out only the palest possible gleam; it must be kept for emergencies. “Oh, gee--_golly_!” said the boy, suddenly. “It’s still burning down there, Ranger! Look!” Some of the territory which Mateo Golinda had considered out of danger had relapsed again; it was not a dangerous burning--a low, smudging, stubborn fire which could not make great headway against the fog. “I don’t think it can do any harm, Scout. Mateo Golinda will be back in the morning to look things over.” “Oh, gee ...” said the Scout, “this way seems most as long as the regular trail, doesn’t it? But we’re nearly there, I guess.” Then he quite evidently revived his fainting spirits with stimulant. “Say, Ranger, we might be trappers or pioneers or--_anything_, mightn’t we?--sneaking along like this? Or Pontiac, Chief of the Ottawas! Say, I betcher it was slick to be an Indian chief ... or even an Indian brave.... Gee, _golly_, but it’s getting dark, isn’t it, Ranger?” “Shut your eyes for a minute, Scout, and then open them; it will seem lighter.” “Say, it does, doesn’t it?” He plodded sturdily on. “I’d keep away from the edge, Scout; it’s wet and slippery, and a misstep would mean a bad tumble.” “All right, Ranger; only, we have to keep _pretty_ near the edge because that’s where the trail is.... Yes, sir, I betcher it was fine to be an Indian brave--hunting and fishing and having the squaws to do all the messy things; and battles ... hanging down on your horse and shooting under his neck--_Ow!_” He stumbled and caught himself. “Gee, I nearly did fall that time, Ranger.” “Look here, Scout,” said Dean sharply, “I believe we’d better stretch right out here and wait till daylight. Let me go ahead, at any rate. My turn to lead, now!”