Ross stood absent-mindedly gazing into the somber depths of the surrounding forest. Evidently he had heard little that his loquacious friend had been saying. But at the question he started, and replied serio-comically:
“I was thinking I had heard you speak of your numerous conquests before, Joe.”
“So you have.”—And the other nodded solemnly and vigorously.—“The Good Book says that from the fullness o’ the gizzard the tongue wags—’r words to that effect. I never was good at quotin’ Scriptur’. Anyhow, a man’s liable to talk ’bout what’s on his conscience. It’s a consumin’ fire that won’t let him rest. As fer me, toyin’ with women folks’s affections has been my besettin’ sin. Now I’m gittin’ up in years, I’d like to find a purty woman, an’ marry an’ settle down. But I’ve burned out the candle o’ the Lord’s mercy an’ blowed the ashes in his face, an’ he won’t hear my prayers.”—Here Joe sighed deeply, lugubriously.—“Be keerful you don’t do the same thing, Ross Douglas. Let my horrible example be a warnin’ to you. Don’t toy with women’s hearts. As I was goin’ to say——”
“Did I understand you to say you’re hungry, Joe?” Douglas interrupted.
“Of course, I’m hungry,” Farley answered in an injured tone. “I’m alluz hungry. When I was a boy I foolishly took a drink o’ water out of a frog pond, an’ swallered ’bout a dozen tadpoles. Well, sir, them tadpoles growed to frogs; an’ they’re in my stomach yit. They take all the victuals I put into my mouth; an’ w’en they git re’l hungry, they set up such a croakin’ I can’t sleep fer the noise they make. Once I got to foolin’ ’round a log bear-trap in the woods, an’ the door fell down an’ shut me in. I was a pris’ner fer ’bout a week; an’ was nearly starved to death an’ crazier ’n a loon, w’en some fellers found me an’ let me out. Well, sir, first them frogs went to croakin’ fer somethin’ to eat, an’ they kep’ it up fer four days, never lettin’ up a minute. Then they got dry fer water, an’ they commenced hoppin’ ’round in my inside an’ tryin’ to git out. Talk ’bout sufferin’! The ol’ martyrs never had to stand what I stood out there in that bear-trap. The ’xperience left lines o’ sufferin’ on my comely visage, that I hain’t never got red of. It come purty near spilin’ my beauty ferever—it did, by Melindy Jane! W’y, dang-it-all-to-dingnation! I tell you——”
“Joe.”
“Well?”
“If you don’t mean to feed your colony of frogs on charred meat, you’d better look after that roasting venison. It’s scorching; I smell it.”
“By my great uncle’s snuffbox, but that’s a fact! An’ me a-standin’ here, a-blowin’ my bugle, like a shaller-pated fool!”
Farley loped up the slope, to the camp-fire, and rescued the hunk of venison from the coals where it had fallen. Douglas followed leisurely, a preoccupied look upon his dark, handsome face. Duke trotted at his heels.