The scout, himself, felt the joyous effect of the day and companion. What whole-souled man can say that he does not enjoy the presence of a clean, pure-minded youth? And Buffalo Bill always loved strong, wholesome, brave, and honest boys. He thoroughly liked this manly chap and determined to see that he was returned safely to his parents and sisters.
They paused for lunch, where a little mountain stream eddied listlessly in a sandy-shored basin, in a rock-bound gulch. It was cool and shadowy there, with the odor of the pines and other evergreens which eked out a stunted existence on the almost bare rock.
The boy had produced a fishhook and line and caught a fine string of trout and grayling, and these were broiled over glowing coals, to be seasoned with salt and pepper from the scout’s pocket case.
Can a boy imagine anything more delightful than camping in the open with a man whose daring exploits are being read by the whole world?
Any boy might expect an adventure at any moment from the very love of adventure to get in Buffalo Bill’s way. And to young Corey it came with such suddenness as to almost take his breath away.
After eating, the scout stretched out in the sun to seek council with his pipe, and the boy could not resist the temptation to once more try the trout. “Perhaps I’ll get a few for supper,” he told the scout.
He had caught several trout and was trying to lure a big fellow from a gloomy retreat under the side of a rock, when the boy felt instinctively the presence of danger. He glanced up and his eyes were fascinated by what he saw.
Not fifteen feet away was a mountain lion, with eyes fixed upon him, and his whole sinuous body in motion, with the appearance of a cat about to spring upon a bird.
The boy’s rifle lay by the camp fire, but his revolver was in his belt, and his hand moved swiftly toward it. Then he remembered that Buffalo Bill had said they must make as little noise as possible.
He would not fire a shot, even to save his life, for had not Buffalo Bill, in substance, ordered otherwise?