Gilroy threw up his hands in horror.
“Do you eat rattlesnakes, really?” he asked.
Ned and Harry joined in a laugh at sight of the clerk’s disturbed countenance. After a time Ned arose to assist in the preparation of the meal, and then, for the first time, the others took note of the absence of his coat and hat.
“Where are they?” Harry asked, pointing from breast to head.
Then Ned explained his plight and Gilroy shuddered in sympathy.
“On a narrow ledge,” he wailed, “hundreds of feet up in the air, a battle with two great birds like that! I’ve heard a great deal about the Pacific coast,” he went on, “and have long desired a trip like the present one, but I’ll tell you now that my infatuation for the west has vanished. Now I begin to understand,” he continued, “why we rarely see a very old man west of Denver.”
“What becomes of ’em?” asked Harry.
“They are eaten by bears, and scalped by Indians, and drowned in places like the Devil’s Punch Bowl, and chewed up by eagles, and slaughtered by half-breeds!” replied the clerk. “And the wonder of it all is,” he continued, “that they seem to like it!”
When the stew was simmering merrily on the coals and the coffee was bubbling not far away, Ned began bringing out the dishes and clearing away the litter of the fire.
“I suppose,” he said after a time, “that the others will be back for supper. It seems to me that they are making a long trip to the Devil’s Punch Bowl.”