He rolled a few times like a 'possum falling off a limb. He landed on the hard sand of the river bank. Night had fallen.
"Lady Luck, here us is. Whah at is we?"
The Wildcat curled up and went to sleep.
He woke up five minutes later. "Sho' is peaceful. How come I's so thirsty?"
Beside him the river offered him a solution to his thirst problems. On all fours he crawled to the river edge. He shoved his bow under the water and nearly sank himself absorbing as much of the Columbia river as could flow into his wide mouth.
"Whuff! Sho' is noble water."
The black rippling water before him was suddenly shot with silver. Then it became a solid glistening black. A school of smelt, seeking the quiet water of the bank, fought their way upstream. The Wildcat reached a tentative exploring paw into the stream of fish.
"Fish, howdy. De table sho' is set. Come out heah."
With his bare hands he snatched ashore a breakfast four sizes too big for his optimistic estimate of his stomach's capacity.
"Quit floppin'. Ole Wilecat's done caught you." He felt for the box of Pullman matches in the pocket of his shirt, beneath the folds of the parade-leading Prince Albert. Here was food and a chance to sleep. With the Wildcat, all was well.