"So would I. Somehow, gold don't look as good to me as it used to. We may starve to death with money in our pockets."
Ben's eyes were fixed upon a slender brook not far away that threaded its silvery way down a gentle incline from the midst of underbrush.
"I wonder if we can't catch some trout," he said. "Don't they have trout in these mountains?"
"To be sure they do; and the best in the world," said Bradley briskly. "The California mountain trout can't be beat."
"But we have no fishing-tackle," suggested Ben.
"Never mind, we have our guns."
"How will that help us?"
"We can shoot them, to be sure."
Ben looked surprised.
"Didn't you ever shoot pickerel? We can shoot trout in the same way. Come, Ben, follow me, and we'll see if we can't have a good supper, after all."