Nora Wingate and Anne Nesbit then introduced themselves, and Joe was "glad to meet" them, but she forgot to address personal remarks to them, for her eyes, glaring through the big spectacles, were fixed on Hippy Wingate's grinning face. All this was "a powerful good joke to him," as Emma confided to Grace in a loud whisper. Joe strode over to Hippy and peered down into his face as he sat playing with Hindenburg. "I reckon some of yer ancestors must been monkeys, judgin' from that monkey-grin on yer face. What's yer name?" Hippy told her, adding that he had been a flying ace in the world war, which announcement he made pompously. "Glad to meet ye, Lieutenant; but look smart that ye don't try any of yer flytricks on Joe Shafto. Six o'clock, folks. Remember!" was Joe's parting word as she strode swiftly from their camp, screwing up her face into a long-drawn wink as she passed Grace Harlowe. In that wink Grace read what she had been searching for. Joe Shafto was human and a humorist, crude, but with a keen mind and a love for banter that promised much enjoyment for the Overland Riders. "I wonder who is the Henry that she mentioned?" reflected Grace out loud. "Perhaps Henry may be a tame goose. Think of 'June' and 'July' as names for mules," chortled Hippy. "Oh, we're going to have a merry, merry time this coming two months--especially Hindenburg and myself." Afternoon tea was an enjoyable occasion that day, at which the principal topic was their new guide. At five minutes before six, after stamping out their little campfire, the Overland party started for the log cabin. As they crossed the road Hippy sniffed the air. "I smell food!" he cried. "Onions! Save me!" moaned Emma. "No. It is something far and away ahead of mere onions," answered Hippy. "I don't know what it is, but were this not so formal an occasion, I should break into a run for it." The door of the cabin stood open, so the party filed in unbidden. The table was long enough for a lumberjack boarding house, constructed of boards nailed together with cleats and placed on two boxes. Oilcloth covered the boards and hung clear to the floor on either side. The ends were open. There was a freshness and wholesomeness about the place that attracted the girls at once. "Set down!" commanded Joe, entering with a heaping platter of meat. "That is what I smelled!" exclaimed Hippy. "May I ask what that meat is, Mrs. Shafto?" "Venison." "Eh? Don't wake me up," murmured Hippy. "Is the deer season on?" questioned Tom. "No. Not till November fifteenth. This is smoked venison, killed last season. I put down a lot of it in caches where the water will keep it cool."