“What about courage, Joey?”
“Pooh! that’s for fighting lions and—and coyotes. Every big man can kill lions. I’d liever fix boys’ toys.”
I dozed after a time, and from a doze drifted into refreshing slumber. I awoke to see silver shadows drawing in around me, overhead a half-lit crescent moon, tender colors streaking the mountains. There was an appetizing smell of cooking on the air, and casting my eyes about I spied Joey very red-faced and stealthy, kneeling beside the camp fire, holding a forked stick in his hand on which was impaled a generous strip of sizzling bacon. I saw a pan of well-browned potatoes hard by, and I rose on my elbow prepared to shout “Grub-pile,” after the fashion of camp cooks, when I heard a strange, sibilant sound from a clump of aspens on the other side of the stream.
I listened. Tinkle, tinkle went the stream; swish, swish whispered the aspens and young maples; but surely that was a human voice droning a curious, lazy chant. I fixed my eyes on the aspen thicket. Presently there came a strange rustling, a vague movement beyond the leafy screen. I waited. Soon a brown hand parted the branches, two bright eyes peered through. As I rose to my feet a slight wiry figure in the fantastic garb of a gipsy darted from the bushes, leaped the stream, and sprang into the little clearing by the fire. I saw a brown face, poppy red lips, and a pair of dancing eyes, shadowed by hair black as midnight. I bent a sharp scrutiny upon the intruder as she stood there in the uncertain light, but with a petulant movement she drew the peaked scarlet cap she wore lower over her face, and wrapped the long folds of her voluminous cape more closely about her.
“Let the gipsy cook your bacon,” she said in an odd throaty voice to Joey.
Joey with big-eyed wonder relinquished the forked stick and dripping bacon strip, and the gipsy tossed back her cape, freeing her arms, and began a deft manipulation of the primitive implement, turning it round and round, now plunging it almost into the heart of the fire, now drawing it away and waving it just beyond the reach of the leaping flames. When I drew near with the coffee pot in my hand, and essayed another glance at her face, it was too dark for me to see her features plainly. I had only a dizzying glimpse of wonderful liquid orbs, white teeth and wreathed berry-red lips.
THE GYPSY TOSSED BACK HER CAPE
When the meal was ready she ate ravenously, almost snatching at the food with which Joey plied her. The light from the fire played over her picturesque attire, shone in her eyes and danced on the tawdry ornaments she wore. She had seated herself with her back against a log; her cape had fallen away, disclosing a coarse white blouse and short skirt of green; about her slim waist she wore a sash of red. In her ears were hoops of gold; each time she tossed her head they danced riotously; and with every movement of her brown arms the bracelets on her wrists jangled. I glanced at her suspiciously from time to time. But Joey’s delight was beyond bounds. He was so frankly overjoyed at the gipsy’s presence that once or twice he giggled outright when she looked at him. I saw an answering flash in her eyes. Of speech she was chary, and all my efforts to draw her into conversation were futile.
She made no attempt to assist Joey and me with the clearing away of the remains of the repast, watching us from under sleepy lids without changing her position against the log; but when we came back to the fire after our work was finished, and I stretched out with a luxurious yawn, she smiled at me and mumbled: