"Because you were coming," I said. "I stood still and called back, to guide you."
"What did you shoot at?"
"Rabbits."
He hadn't seen them before, but now he saw them on the ground. "Aw, jiminy!" he exclaimed. "We've got something better than that, but we can't make a fire and our matches are all wet and so are our blankets, and we don't know what to do. There's another fellow with me. We're lost."
He was a sight; wet and dirty and sweaty from running, and scared.
"What are you doing? Camping?" I asked.
He nodded. "We started for Duck Lake, with nothing but blankets and what grub we could carry; but we got to chasing around and we missed the trail and now we don't know where we are. Gee, but we're wet and cold. Where's your camp?"
"Back on the ridge."
"Got a fire?"
"Uh huh," I nodded. "Sure."