“Struck me that mebbe aour ole friend, that silvertip bear, might have his den somewhere ’bout in the rocks; an’ where’d he run ’cross a better place to hole up fur the winter than right here! Say, mebbe I wouldn’t hate to run smack on the ugly critter while we was a explorin’ some o’ the tunnels an’ passages that lead outen this here central chamber? They kinder give these here grizzlies a reputation fur havin’ long memories, jest like elephants do; an’ I bet yeou a cookey he aint never agoin’ to furget little Gabe Perkiser, what throwed a match into his hair, an’ set him afire.”
But Jack did not appear to have such a lively imagination as his comrade, for he shook his head in the negative, and tried to soothe the anxious Perk.
“I hardly think there’s any chance for such a nasty happening, buddy,” he assured the other; “though I do reckon the old chap’d never forget you, after receiving such scurvy treatment at your hands. Some time later we’ll take a look in at that same passage—these caves in the mountains often turn out to run for a mile or more, twisting and turning, to come out it may be close to the starting point, even in the shape of another fissure.”
“Say, I’d like that same trick, I’m atellin’ yeou, Jack, boy. ’Sides, bein’ partial to caves o’ all kinds an’ species I’m also given to explorin’ queer places—got me into heaps o’ trouble in my kid days, which same makes me laugh to remember. But tell me some more things yeou thunk up, or seen, while I was aout wrastlin’ fur grub.”
Jack looked at him in a peculiar way that caused Perk to wonder what he was about to spring upon him.
“Remember my telling you about that cook chap they’ve got, waiting on them, and all that, Perk?”
“Sure do, him with the s’posed to be white chef’s cap—was he any different from the general run—cook, crook, seems to me they sorter hitch like they might be first cousins.”
“There was something that seemed familiar about him, but it was only later in the day I managed to glimpse a better look at the fellow, when the sun shone full on his moniker; then it flashed on me who he was.”
“Hold on there, partner, I jest hopes yeou ain’t agoin’ to inform me he’s yet another galoot I useter know—seems like that Nat Tucker, added to aour ole friend, Slippery Slim, might be enough former ’quaintances to meet up with in sech a nest o’ flim-flam artists an’ crooks.”
“Well, I think you told me once you’d never known this party; but I had, and only a short time back I told you more or less about him. It was in Washington I used to run along with him in my work.”