“I hate to let the bully fire die down,” Perk presently observed, for he never was so happy as when sitting alongside a cheery blaze, puffing at his briarwood pipe, and watching the rings of smoke sail upward.
“Oh! it wouldn’t do to try and keep it going all night,” Jack told him. “Too little stuff for burning, and hard to tote in here. I’ll keep my electric hand-torch close beside me, and if there’s any occasion for lighting up the cavern I can do it in a jiffy.”
That seemed to ease Perk’s mind somewhat, for Jack could plainly see the other was somewhat concerned regarding the possibility of their having an unwelcome visitor during the time they were resting from the fatigues of the past day.
He watched Perk making his preparations for retiring, and just as he anticipated the other was exceedingly careful to pick out a camping place as far removed from that mysterious passage leading out of the central cavern as he possibly could.
Of course the reason for his so doing was plainly manifest to Jack—he could spell it in four letters—B-E-A-R—Perk could not wholly dissuade himself that Fate meant to play him a nasty trick, and bring him into close quarters with that ferocious monster, the silvertip, or as he was known along the mountains of the Coast, “Old Eph.” The distinct smell of burning hair still seemed to linger within reach of his olfactories, and give him a reproachful sensation, as though he felt he had taken a mean advantage of the beast.
No such thought worried Jack; but then the shadow of guilt did not hang over his head as was the case with Perk.
“Don’t forget to wind up your wrist-watch, buddy,” warned Jack, shortly afterwards; as Perk still sat there on his blanket, keeping up his meditative puffing, as though he meant to see the fire to its last flickering extinction. “They’re our only reliable guide to tell us when morning comes around. In this black cave we might lie dozing until the middle of the day, without knowing how we were sleeping at the switch, and wasting precious time.”
“Hot-diggetty-dig! partner, haow yeou do jest think o’ ever’thing. On’y fur yeou I’d be like a lost lamb awanderin’ ’raound the countryside, bleatin’, an’ shiverin’ fur fear the pesky wolves’d get me.”
“That’ll do for you, buddy,” Jack sternly told him. “We’ve both got our several good and bad points; but we’re essential to each other to make up a working team, six of one, and half a dozen of the other—now, don’t let me hear you getting off any of that boloney stuff again, mind.”
“Huh! yeou lets me daown too easy, partner; guess I know my shortcomings better’n anybody else; an’ thinkin’ ain’t much o’ a long suite with Gabe, not at no time in hist’ry.”