Rathburn took his slicker pack from the rear of his saddle and spread it open on the ground.
“Reckon it’s safe to build a small fire here?” he asked cheerfully. “I’m powerful hungry, an’ I’ve got some emergency provisions––being trail-broke.”
Percy, too, was hungry, as his eager look toward the pack testified.
“I’ll climb up to the top on the lower side an’ keep an eye out while you fix some grub,” he volunteered. “You needn’t be scared of me jumping over the other side. There’s a drop of about five hundred feet over there.”
“Go ahead and jump if you want,” said Rathburn. “Me––I’d rather live. That’s why I want to eat.”
While the other climbed to his lookout position Rathburn made a fire. Then he took a small frying pan and coffeepot, minus its handle, from the pack, removed the packages stuffed in them, and soon was making coffee, frying bacon, and warming up beans. This, with some hard biscuits and some sirup out of a bottle, constituted their meal, which Rathburn soon had ready.
Again he looked closely at Percy’s face as the latter scrambled down from his perch to appease his hunger.
Suddenly he burst out laughing; but it was a belittling laugh, half sneering, which brought the blood to the face of the captive while Rathburn watched him closely.
“If I had to-day’s actions to do over again you mightn’t be so tickled,” said the man viciously.