At the end of another day Sandy became restless; his capacity for loafing was exhausted.
"Let's go get a bear," he proposed.
"Deer's better meat," said McHale; "also easier to get. I won't climb after no bear."
Nevertheless, he accompanied Sandy down the valley. They saw no bear; but they shot a young buck, and returned to camp with the carcass lashed behind Sandy's saddle. Although it was closed season, they needed the meat, and game wardens were not likely to intrude.
But when they came in sight of their camp they saw old Simon reclining in grandeur on their blankets, smoking.
"The nerve of that buck!" snorted McHale. "Get off of that bed, you old copperskin. Think I want to wash them blankets?"
Simon obeyed, but he drew a letter from his pocket.
"Papah," said he. "Casey."
McHale read Casey's warning as to Dade, and whistled softly, passing the letter to Sandy.
"So this here Dade makes it a feud, does he?" he said meditatively. "All right, he can have it that way. Same time, I'm goin' to keep out of trouble long as I can. I'll stay cached mighty close, and I'll run like blazes before I'll fight. Simon, how'd you find this camp?"