“You’re all right, kiddo,” he said, as the two seated themselves in the shadows some distance from the blaze.
“Have you just found that out?” demanded Jimmie.
“I mean about those imitation mounted policemen,” Carl went on. “They’re no more mounted policemen than I am!”
“Then they’re a long ways from it!” Jimmie laughed. “But why this sudden conversion to my view of the case?”
“They don’t know about eating bear meat!” was the scornful reply. “One of them just told me that he didn’t know that they ever ate bear steak!”
“That does settle it!” cried Jimmie.
“Of course, it settles it!” agreed Carl. “And now the question,” he continued, “is this: What are they doing here, and why are they posing as mounted policemen? You don’t suppose they’ve got word from New York, do you?”
“Word from New York about what?”
“About our being out looking for the post-office inspector the mail-order brigands abducted not long ago.”
“Of course not!” was the reply. “These fellows are just plain mountain bums! They came here principally to get supper!”