“That’s me!” laughed Ben winking at the Englishman.
“That’s both of you, and the man in the tent, too!” laughed the other. “I’ve been wandering around this everlasting, eternal, Providence-forsaken valley for three or four days, living on ground squirrels and seeking to become intoxicated on river water.”
“Did you lose your camp, too?” asked Ben with a chuckle.
“I never had any camp in this country!” was the reply. “I came in by way of Crow’s Nest, with a pack of provisions on my back, looking for land worth squatting on. I ate my provisions the first week, lost my way the second, and traveled on my nerve the third.”
“Did it make good going?” asked Ben with a grin.
“Fairly good!” was the reply. “You see,” he went on, “I had a couple of automatic guns and plenty of cartridges, so I’d shoot red ground squirrels when ever I got hungry and build a fire in among the tall trees and cook ’em. Then I’d go to sleep by the fire and wake up that night, or the next morning, or the day after the next morning, or any old time. And that’s the kind of an existence I’ve been having.”
“That’s the wild, free life, all right!” Ben agreed.
“I’ve been chased by bears, and kept awake at night by lynxes, and wolverines, until it seems to me as if I had butted into the Central Park Zoo! And right this minute,” he added, looking around the camp with wistful eyes, “I’m about as hungry as a human being can be and stand on his feet. I haven’t had a drop of coffee for a month!”
“I was waiting for that!” Ben grinned as he moved toward the coffee-pot and provision box. “Everybody that comes here is hungry! I’ve got so I make a break for the coffee-pot and the grub the minute I see a stranger approaching.”
“I’m glad you’ve got the habit,” laughed the other. “I’ve butted into camps in this country before now where a man wasn’t welcome to take a second breath out of the atmosphere!”