“Whew! It isn’t very nice,” declared Jack as he took a long sniff. “No wonder they used to call this place Stinking Water before they named it the Shoshone.”
“What makes it smell so?” asked Nat.
“Well, I understand there are springs around here, the water of which is impregnated with sulphureted hydrogen.”
“That’s it. Sulphureted hydrogen! Humpty-doodle’s hydrangeas! I thought it smelled like the chemical laboratory at Washington Hall. Is it the river?”
“No, only some small springs, and some of them give off gases that kill animals. But there’s the tree where Budge ought to be. I s’pose he’s asleep.”
As they approached nearer the unpleasant odor became more pronounced. Then, as they topped a little mound, they looked down and saw their friend reclining on the ground near a dead cottonwood tree.
“Sure enough, he’s asleep,” remarked Jack. “Come on, we’ll wake him up. Get close, and then we’ll yell like wild Indians and scare him.”
They crept softly closer to the outstretched Budge. He did not stir. Then they united their voices in a terrorizing yell.
But instead of Budge sitting up suddenly he remained in the same position, his gun by his side, and a couple of dead rabbits at his feet.
“That’s queer,” remarked Jack. “He’s certainly sleeping sound.”