“I’m shhhhing. What is it?” asked Ed.
“I thought I heard a kind of a sound,” said Westy.
“I hope it isn’t a grizzly,” said Warde. “Do you suppose they come to places like this? Come on, let’s gather some branches to sleep on; I know how to make a spring mattress. Is it all right to sleep on branches, Westy?”
It was funny to see Ed sitting on a rock calmly unraveling some worsted from his sweater, all the while with his precious safety-pin stuck ostentatiously in the shoulder of his shirt.
“It’s good you happened to have your sweater on,” said Warde.
“I hope I don’t lose my railroad ticket now,” said Ed. “I had it pinned in. I tell you what you do. Big Chief,” he added, addressing Westy, and all the while engrossed with his unraveling process; “you climb up that hill and take a squint around and look for a patch of yellow in the distance. That will be Yellowstone Park. Look all around and if you see any places where they sell hot frankfurters let us know. By the time you get back we’ll have supper ready, what there is of it, I mean such as it is. I’m going to braid this stuff, it’s too weak. Look in the sink and see if there are any sinkers, Wardie.”
“All right,” said Westy, “because if I wait till after supper it might be too dark.”
“If you wait till after supper,” said Ed, “maybe the tree won’t be there. We may not have supper for years. How do I know that fish are fond of red. I always told my mother I wanted a gray sweater, same color as fish-line, and she goes and gets me a red one. I wonder what Stove Polish catches fish with.”
“Maybe with the string that Mr. Wilde West was stringing us with,” said Warde.
“I guess I’d better go,” laughed Westy.