“Because, you see, Master Bart, we seem to be so horrid safe now.”
“Safe, Joses?”
“Yes, Master Bart,” grumbled the old fellow; “there arn’t no risks, no keeping watch o’ nights, no feeling as it arn’t likely that you’ll ever see another morning, and it isn’t exciting enough for me.”
But then the Beaver came up with some news that made Joses’ eyes sparkle.
“There’s buffalo out on the far plain, captain,” he said; “and I’ve seen sign of mountain sheep three days’ journey up the canyon. Will the young chief Bart go?”
“That I will, Beaver,” cried Bart. “To-morrow at daybreak.”
“No; to-night,” said the Beaver.
“That’s the way,” growled Joses. “Say yes, Master Bart.”
Bart did say yes, as he generally would upon hearing such news as this—these excursions carrying him back to the old adventurous days, when, quite a lad, he joined in a hunt to find provision for the little camp.