"Its proudest ornyments, so to speak. Now, that bein' settled, I'd like to go back to a p'int that troubles me."
"If I can help call on me."
"It's 'bout that song I wuz jest singin'. At the last line o' each verse it says: 'An' the bell'wing thunders roar.' I've thought it over a heap o' times, but I've never rightly made out what a bell'wing thunder is. Thar ain't nothin' 'bout thunder that reminds me o' bells. Now what is it, young William?"
Will began to laugh.
"What do you find so funny?" asked the Little Giant suspiciously.
"Nothing at all! Nothing at all!" replied Will hastily. "'Bell'wing' is bellowing. The writer meant the bellowing thunders, and it's cut off to bell'wing for the sake of rhyme and metre, a poetical liberty, so to speak. You see, poets have liberties denied to other people."
"Wa'al, I reckon they need a few. All that I ever seed did. But I'm mighty glad the p'int hez been settled. It's been botherin' me fur years. Thank you, young William."
"I think now," said Boyd, "that we'd better be looking for a camp."
"Among all these canyons and valleys," said Will, "it shouldn't be hard to find a suitable place."
Canyons were too abundant for easy traveling, and finding a fairly level though narrow place in one of the deepest, they pitched camp there, building a fire with wood which they had added to their packs for this purpose, and feeding to the animals grass which they had cut on the lower slopes. With the warm food and the fire it was not so bad, although the wind began to whistle fiercely far above their heads. The animals hovered near the fire for warmth, looking to the human beings who guided them for protection.