“Hungry?” repeated Jimmie. “You know it! If you’ve got any rat sandwiches or puppy potpies, just introduce me!”
“Flesh!” growled Chang.
“Flesh?” repeated Jimmie. “Oh, yes, you mean fresh? Well, you’d be just as fresh as I am if you were as hungry.”
“Cheek!” cried Chang. “Kid allels have cheek—an’ tummy!”
“Sure,” said Jimmie. “Go on an’ get me a porterhouse steak with French potatoes. I could eat a car of raw onions.”
Chang turned away and walked out to the ledge, where the Chinese boy stood, looking out into the sunshine. It was a glorious morning, with the air clear and just a little sharp, owing to the altitude. Here and there little swirls of smoke showed that fires were burning in the forest, though none seemed to be close to the range.
Reaching the boy’s side Chang addressed a few words to him in Chinese and left the cave, turning back, after a few paces, to observe the boy, now standing with a long, keen-bladed clasp-knife in his hand. As Chang looked the boy ran his finger over the edge of the blade, as if to make sure that it was suitable for some purpose he had in view.
With an exclamation of rage Chang charged back at him and snatched the knife from his hand.
“You fool!” he cried.
“You let me alone!” shouted the other. “I tell you, I’m going to kill him!”