By this time Tom was excited. He fancied that this might be a signal calling for help, as is well known among woodsmen, and cattle rustlers. Thoughts of the rough characters said to be somewhere in this vicinity, after being run out of Yellowstone Park by the soldiers guarding the preserves, flashed into his mind.
And so Tom, hastily throwing his pack up over a limb, where it would be safe for a while at least, and carefully noting the spot, so he could find the meat again, started on a wild run for the location of Old Sol's hideout.
[CHAPTER IV—THE WOLF PACK]
When Felix found himself alone he set about doing a number of things which he had in mind, meaning to tackle the wood problem when it got later in the afternoon.
Time passes quickly when any one is busily employed, and so the hour slipped by almost before he knew it. From some distance away there suddenly came the report of a rifle. Felix listened eagerly, but no second shot sounded. This seemed to tell him that none was needed.
"I reckon Tom got what he wanted that time," he said to himself, as he went on doing what had engaged his attention; "when he lets go, something generally drops. Makes my mouth water, just to think of having a saddle of venison hanging up here for a starter. And then it'll be my turn next to make a try. Yes, Tom was right; and it sure does look like we were going to have the time of our lives up here in this Rocky Mountain foothills country."
He remembered after a bit that there was only a scant amount of wood handy, and that Tom had hinted about laying in a further supply.
"Guess I'll just get a bucket of water, and then take to the axe for a spell," he remarked to himself, for, like a good many other people, Felix was quite food of talking to himself when alone.
Among other things they had found an old but serviceable galvanized bucket, which Old Sol had carefully greased, and put away for future use. It had taken Felix not a little time to get it in fairly decent shape again; but it would hold water, and that was a fortunate thing. Under such conditions campers have no right to be overly particular about the looks of things; and a little rust never hurt any one yet, Felix stoutly declared.
So, taking the bucket, he set out for the spring, which happened to be about two hundred feet away from the dugout.