“There, you needn’t try to joke about that,” was the reply, in a weary, querulous tone. “You’re as fond of good things as I am.”
“Never said I wasn’t,” cried Chris, laughing. “But I say, Griggs, we must have one of those for supper to-night, no matter how late we are.”
“All right,” said the American. “I begin to feel as if I can pick a bit myself; but you won’t like raw turkey, will you?”
“Haw? Nonsense! We must make a good fire, and frizzle bits over the embers.”
“A good fire, to show the Indians where we’ve made our camp?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Chris. “I never thought of that,” and he was silent for a few minutes, but only to break out again with, “We shall be too far off for any Indians to see, for we’ve got many miles to go yet to camp.”
“And we can make our fire in the shelter of the trees,” added Ned. “That’ll be all right. But I say, Griggs, you ought to begin picking one of the birds at once, so as to be ready when we get back.”
“To be sure,” said Griggs; “capital idea. You’re a nice fellow to take care of yourself out in an Indian country!”
“What do you mean?” cried Ned.
“Preparing a trail for the savages to follow.”