"I don’t think that’s a bad poem, Phil, considering the short time I’ve had for its composition, and you’ll observe that, with a modesty not common among poets, I’ve put you first." "It’s all right for the time," said Phil, "but don’t do it too often. But, Bill, I’d trade a whole slab of poetry for an equal weight in beef or venison. I’m beginning to feel terribly hungry." "I’d make the trade, too," said Bill Breakstone, "and that’s not holding poetry so cheap, either. It’s pleasant for the Babes in the Wood to wake up again, but there’s a disadvantage; you’ve got to eat, and to eat you’ve got to find something that can be eaten. I’m like King Richard, ’A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!’ But I wouldn’t ride that horse; I’d eat him." "What time o’ night would you say it is, Bill?" Bill Breakstone attentively studied the few stars to be seen in the extremely dusky heavens. "I’d say it was somewhere between six o’clock in the evening and six o’clock in the morning, with the emphasis on the ’somewhere.’ I wonder what’s happened around in these woods since we went to sleep last week, Phil; but I suppose we’ll never know." Bill stood up, and with his fingers combed the leaves out of his hair. "Phil," he said, "I’ll tell you the story of my life for the last day or two. It doesn’t make a long narrative, but while it was happening it was tremendously moving to me. When I left you I skipped along through the edge of the woods and came to the plain. Then I saw the Indian village and the Indian horses grazing on the meadows. I looked them over pretty thoroughly, concluded I didn’t like ’em, and started back to tell you about ’em. I thought I was mighty smart, but I wasn’t smart enough by half." "What happened?" "Just as I turned around to start upon my worthy mission, three large, unclothed Comanches laid rude hands upon me. I didn’t have much chance, one against three, and surprise on their side, too. They soon had me by the neck and heels, and carried me off to their village, where they gave me the welcome due to a distinguished stranger. Black Panther was especially effusive. He wanted to know all about me and my friends, if any, perchance, were near by. It was the same band that had attacked our wagon train and that was beaten off. Their scouts had warned them that we were on the other side of the big forest, but they were afraid to attack again. I gathered from what Black Panther said--he understands English, and I understand some Comanche--that they believed me to be lost, strayed, or stolen--that is, I had wandered away in some manner, or had been left behind. The chief tried to get all sorts of information out of me, but I didn’t have any to tell. Finding that I was born dumb, he began to talk about punishments." "What were they going to do to you, Bill?"