One consequence of their mental dissipation was that they slept rather beyond the hour of day-break, and the first thing that recalled the two white men to consciousness was the voice of their black comrade exclaiming:—
“Ho! hi! hallo! I smells a smell!”
They lifted their three heads simultaneously and beheld the outlaw sitting calmly beside the fire roasting steaks.
For the first time the mysterious stranger smiled—and it was a peculiarly sweet half-grave sort of attractive smile, as far removed from the fiendish grin of the stage bandit as night is from day.
“I knew you would be hungry, and guessed you would be sleepy,” he said, in a deep musical voice, “so I have prepared breakfast. Are you ready?”
“Ready!” repeated Hockins, rising with a mighty yawn, and stretching himself, as was his wont; “I just think we are. Leastwise I am. Good luck to ’ee Mister Outlaw, what have ’ee got there?”
“Beef, marrow-bones, and rice,” replied the man. “You may call me Samuel if you like. It was my father’s first name, but I’m best known among my friends as Ravoninohitriniony.”
“Well, that is a jaw-breaker!” exclaimed Hockins, with a laugh, as they all sat down to breakfast. “Ra-vo—what did ’ee say?”
“Better not try it till arter breakfast,” suggested Ebony.
“Couldn’t we shorten it a bit?” said Mark, beginning to consult a marrow-bone. “What say you to the first half—Ravonino?”