“They’ve had to go out after grub,” he explained. “I’ll just bet they had company for dinner and ate up everything we had. Then they went off to some little town on the Southern Pacific railroad to buy provisions. Wonder they wouldn’t leave some word!” he added impatiently.
“Leave some word just like you did!” taunted Kit.
“Well,” Jimmie said in an apologetic tone, “I expected to be back right off and I didn’t want to wake them up!”
“Perhaps they expected to be back right off, too!” laughed Kit.
“I’ll just tell you what I’m going to do right now!” Jimmie exclaimed. “I’m going up in the woods and get a bear steak. The meat will be all right yet, won’t it?”
“I should say not!” replied Kit. “I know enough about hunting to know that that bear meat will be smelling like a slaughter house right now!”
“Anyhow,” Jimmie insisted, “I’m going up and see about it!”
Leaving Kit sitting by the machine, the boy hastened up to the place where the bear had been shot and stopped beside a heap of fur which lay on the ground at the foot of the tree. He gave the bearskin a little kick with his foot and then turned his eyes in the direction of the thicket. There was no sign of the carcass. The skin had been deftly removed, and nothing but such parts as were uneatable remained.
Mournfully pressing his hands to the waistband of his trousers, the boy set his face toward the camp and sat down by Kit without a word.
“Where’s your bear meat?” asked Kit with a grin. “Why didn’t you bring back a lot of it? You didn’t eat it raw, did you?”