“Then we’ll go up to my camp. I was just sitting down to supper when the firing started.”
Chuck slung his blanket roll over his shoulder and followed Slim up the trail.
They reached the patch of timber and found that the small fire had burned itself out. The bacon was cold and greasy and the coffee bitter.
“I’ll rustle more wood,” said Chuck and Slim set about the simple preparations for the joint meal.
In a short time the fire was glowing again and the savory odor of frying bacon and boiling coffee filled the night air.
“That sure smells good to me,” said Chuck, squatting on his heels on the other side of the fire. “I’ve been traveling a little too light. Grub ran low and I cut out my noon meal figuring that I’d be far enough down the trail tonight to reach some ranch house and get a real supper.”
“Guess you don’t know much about this country,” said Slim as he deftly flipped the bacon.
“Why?”
“There isn’t a ranch within miles. We’ve got a good thirty miles of hoofing it down the trail before we’ll be anywhere near a place we can get horses.”
“You been through this country before?” Slim thought that Chuck’s eyes were peering at him intently from beneath the bushy eyebrows.