"Thank you," said Joe. "I have the promise of all the books I want from Mr. Warren's library, and I should judge by the looks of that package that he intends to provide me with papers, also. Have you seen anything in the shape of grub, Tom?"
"Nary thing," was the answer. "Have much of a supply?"
"Enough to last a week, I should think."
"It isn't here now," said Tom, looking around. "It has gone off to keep company with the shot-gun, most likely."
"I am afraid it has, and that I shall be obliged to pack up a fresh supply on my back."
"Coming up here again to-night?" asked Tom.
"Of course I am," exclaimed Joe, who seemed surprised at the question. "I belong here, don't I? Are you not coming back?"
"Certainly. But there are two of us, and only one of you; and, besides, you have no watch-dog to warn you of—oh, you needn't laugh! I know that Bugle acted the part of a coward to-day, but he is a good watch-dog for all that. He will be sure to awaken us if any one comes prowling around our cabin, and that is all we ask of him. There sir, your cot is all right again."
"It's a wonder to me that they didn't steal my blankets," said Joe. "But, after all, they've got a pretty good supply, and probably they don't want any more to carry about the country with them, when they find themselves obliged to break up housekeeping in the gulf, and strike for new quarters. Now, I think we might as well go on to Mr. Warren's. I haven't missed anything yet except my provisions and shooting rig."