THE CAMP IN THE WILLOWS
He was awakened by snorts of all three ponies. The fire had burned out with the exception of a bed of coals glowing in the deep black night. The "watchdogs" of the camp had crowded up to the lengths of their picket ropes, getting as near each other as they could. Jack slowly raised himself to a sitting position and listened attentively. Peering out through the willows he could see, by the restive tugging of the ponies at their fastenings with the pricking of their ears toward the high precipice, that the cause for alarm did not come from inside the cañon. Cautiously putting on a pair of moccasins, which he always had near him at night, he picked up his .44 and was on the point of stepping into the open by the fire, when from above came a screech, a long cat-like growl of defiance, yet defeat, that made the cañon echo and re-echo with maniacal vocal debauchery. Jack's heart, it is needless to say, quit doing business peremptorily for at least thirty seconds. His eyes followed the ear-vanes on the ponies' heads, and just at the edge of that breastwork of rock could be seen two golden discs as big as car wheels, Jack thought. A greenish glare as of a halo surrounded the yellow spots, and occasionally the bright spots suddenly disappeared only to shine forth again appallingly bright. It was a mountain lion taking snap shots while it speculated on its appetite. Jack stepped out and gave the end of a burned log a kick into the hot coals. Millions of sparks flew up. The big lemon-colored orbs slunk back out of sight and ten minutes later the faint repetition of the first number proclaimed the concert ended.
The "big dipper" pointed to 3 o'clock. Throwing on some more fuel the fire blazed high. Chiquita thrust her head out of the environments of the fur bag and sat up in the willow retreat. "Me want 'em drink; mouth heap dry," was the laconic remark she made to Jack as he acknowledged her wakefulness. Giving her a cup of water, he referred to the visitor just departed, to which she scornfully replied:
"Heap big coward, big cat with long tail. Little cat with short tail all same like this bag, no coward. Big cat all same you call 'em lion, no catch 'em ponies, Indian or white man, all time afraid. Big cat catch 'em rabbit, lame deer. Mebbe so heap hungry tackle 'em big elk; drop from big tree on elk back. Big cat, little cat, wolf, bear, no come near camp fire. Look at camp fire long way off. Chiquita no fraid when all 'lone."
With this piece of information, with which Jack was already acquainted, they both resumed their interest in the land of Nod.
The bright winter sun had not mounted far enough in the heavens to shed any warm rays into the camp when Jack pulled on his boots and poked the fire preparatory to an early breakfast. The ponies did not look as if dyspepsia troubled them, nor did Jack feel overburdened with belly worship. The little larder was a hollow mockery to the knockings of a ravenous appetite. Jack concluded that a well-fed discretion was better than hungry haste, so he meandered down the river in search of a rabbit, while Chiquita attended to her morning ablutions. About the time that the average city girl would have consumed with curling tongs, cashmere bouquet and in getting her hat on straight, Jack returned with a nice fat "jack" of the lepus cuniculus family, all ready for the coals. It did not take long to cook the choice cuts from the delectable portions of "Bunny." The seasoning was rather crude, consisting of powder taken from a misfire cartridge, which Jack happened to have in his belt. But "saltpeter in gunpowder is better than no salt at all" is an old axiom among hunters. This addition to the "hollow mockery" larder sent their spirits up to the top of the goodfellowship thermometer.
"A burned hare is worth two in the bush," said Jack, as he irreverently twisted a trite quotation and rabbit leg. But Chiquita kept right on in her argument with a section of the vertebra just roasted on a forked stick.
After the first pangs of hunger had been somewhat appeased the Indian girl said to Jack, "What you call 'em little things use all same knife when eat off tin plate?"
Jack recalled the fact of some cheap silver-plated forks that made up the camp kit.
"Forks," he replied, adding, as Chiquita seemed to want further information, "The fair sisters of Jack no eat 'em venison with fingers, all same Chiquita. Think 'em Chiquita wild girl. When Jack come back bring 'em forks and spoons for Chiquita."