“Ow,” said the Scout, ruefully. “I wisht you wouldn’t.... I betcher she’ll give Rusty a bone, too. I like that lady an awful lot, don’t you, Ranger?”
“Best in the world, Scout.”
“And I like that girl that the doctor lets ride Ted, don’t you, Ranger?”
“Yes,” said Dean Wolcott, “yes, son, I like that girl.” He threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Oh, boy, I like that girl!”
“Me, too,” said Elmer Bunty.
He was making good progress considering the fast fading light but the dark was coming down on them like a released curtain. Dean experimented with his flash and found that it gave out only the palest possible gleam; it must be kept for emergencies.
“Oh, gee—golly!” said the boy, suddenly. “It’s still burning down there, Ranger! Look!”
Some of the territory which Mateo Golinda had considered out of danger had relapsed again; it was not a dangerous burning—a low, smudging, stubborn fire which could not make great headway against the fog.
“I don’t think it can do any harm, Scout. Mateo Golinda will be back in the morning to look things over.”
“Oh, gee ...” said the Scout, “this way seems most as long as the regular trail, doesn’t it? But we’re nearly there, I guess.” Then he quite evidently revived his fainting spirits with stimulant. “Say, Ranger, we might be trappers or pioneers or—anything, mightn’t we?—sneaking along like this? Or Pontiac, Chief of the Ottawas! Say, I betcher it was slick to be an Indian chief ... or even an Indian brave.... Gee, golly, but it’s getting dark, isn’t it, Ranger?”