She flashed him a quick look of surprise. He answered it with a barely perceptible squint, which she understood from years of comradeship to mean that he shared her secret. It meant more than that. He not only shared her secret, but his right hand--his life--was at her disposal, if necessary. Then, in acknowledgment of his silent message she gave him one of her rare, glorious smiles. "You did make a pretty lively clearing," said her cousin. "Eight coyotes isn't so bad. That means numerous calves saved, young colts, a hundred or so sheep, not to mention innumerable wild birds and barnyard fowl." "Truly, it makes us feel like conquerors, doesn't it, Dave? But we're famished, Syd!" Then placing her seat beside the table she motioned the others to join her, and soon they were enjoying a remarkably good camp supper. The cook bustled about the tent, pouring out coffee, apologizing, praising this dish or that, and urging them to partake of more, all in one breath. Sydney and his friend Livingston kept up the conversation, to which Hope listened, too contented and happy with the meal, the hour, and the company to enter it herself. She finally pushed back her plate, congratulated the cook upon the success of his supper, and gave the twin a warning look, which he completely ignored. "Here, take another piece o' this pie," said the cook, who had intercepted the girl's glance. At this invitation the boy helped himself with alacrity, and with a broad smile the cook continued: "I never knowed a boy yet to kill himself eatin'. You can fill 'em plumb full to the brim, an' in a 'alf hour they're lookin' fer more. All the same, dog er Injun, halways hungry; an' a boy's just the same." "Eat all you want, youngster, you're not in school now," said Carter. "I have a slight recollection myself of a time when I had an appetite." "I failed to notice anything wrong with it to-night, Sydney," remarked the girl. "There's nothin' like a happetite," observed the cook. "Did you's ever hear the meaning hoff the word? This is how hit was told to _me_." He stood before them emphasizing each word with a forward shake of his first finger. "H-a-p-p-y,--happy,--t-i-t-e, tight,--happy--tite--that's right, ain't hit? When you're heatin' hall you want you're _tight_, an' then you're happy, ain't you? An' that's what hit means,--happy-tight." Whether this observation of the small English cook's was original or not those present had no way of ascertaining. But since this was but a sample of the many observations he aired each day, it is reasonable to suppose that it originated in his fertile brain. "I think there's no doubt about that being the true derivation of the word," said Hope. "In fact, I am sure it is. Isn't it, Dave?" "I don't know nothin' about it," said the boy, looking up from his last bite of pie; then giving a deep sigh he reluctantly moved away from the table.