As a clump of trees and bushes intervened between the sleeping quarters for the scouts and the camp fire, Julie was unaware of a visitor until she, calling to the Guide, rushed around the screen foliage.
“Tally! I want to borrow your fish-pole! Where is it?”
Sanderson sat bolt upright at the girlish voice. He was accustomed to sudden and unexpected calls during his sleep, hence he was trained to rouse quickly.
“Oh!” gasped Julie, surprised at finding the young Ranger there. “Oh, where did you come from?”
“Good-morning. Miss Julie,” returned he, scrambling to his feet, and hastily trying to smooth his disheveled hair.
“Me fin’ Mees’r San’son losted las’ night,” said Tally, explaining the presence of the disconcerted visitor. “He come alla way down, to fin’ us an’ hees hoss call for help. Poor Ranger! He ride alla night to ketch us up.”
Then Sanderson added his explanations to those of the Indian and by the time he had concluded he had regained his composure.
“Well, this isn’t catching fish for breakfast,” returned Julie, laughingly. “I came for Tally’s rod, and now I find I have another mouth to fill.”
Tally went over to fetch his rod, but he smiled to himself as he muttered a contradiction to Julie’s words: “Ye’es, this iss catching fish! You hook one great beeg fish, Mees Jule, what you not eat for brekfas’.”
“What did you say, Tally?” demanded Julie. “I heard you say something about not eating fish for breakfast, but you shall, if I know it!”