"You look like you needed something to eat!" Jimmie put in. "How long you been sleuthin' at us from that rock?"
"Not long," was the reply, in a slow, sober tone. "Just a minute.
I fell down a mountain not so very long ago."
"Then," said Jimmie, pointing to the wound on his head, "you haven't got anything on me. I'm quite a hand at fallin' down precipices, myself!"
"You didn't say if you had anything to eat," insisted the stranger.
"I'm so hungry that I could eat a fried griddle."
"Well," replied Ned, "we're just out of fried griddles, but we've got a tin of beans we might give you."
"Slave for life if you do!" drawled the other. "I've been wandering in the mountains for more than a week, and am so empty that it will require several tins to fill me up, but if one is the limit, why—"
Jimmie uncovered the cache and brought out a can of beans, which he opened with the hatchet and presented to the other, with a grave bow.
"Dinner is served, me lud!" he said.
The stranger did not wait for formalities. He had no knife, fork, or spoon, but he managed to remove the beans from the can and convey them to his mouth without the aid of such artificial aids to the hungry. He sighed when the can was empty, and wiped his hands on the grass at his feet.
"How did you get in here?" asked Ned, then, curious to know how any one could have the nerve to face a mountain journey in the condition this man was in.