Hugh looked. A grim smile came over his face.
"Dude!"
"Dude could not steal steak out of a frying-pan?"
"Not Dude? You bet your life that's where the steak has gone to. And there is no use licking him; the only way to cure Dude of stealing is to cut his tail off behind his ears. I told you Dude would rather steal than eat: and this shows how careful you must be."
Dude was lying a picture of innocence on the snow. How he could maintain an appearance of unconcern with a broiling hot beef-steak inside him was a marvel! John looked at him amazed: the smallest slit of a black eye was watching him.
"I was only away about three minutes."
"Half a minute is enough for Dude. He likes beef-steak!"
Hugh refilled the pan and then—civilization knows no artifice to better the enjoyment of such a meal!
They were partakers, too, of another repast—their souls were fed by the glories of nature: the sun was setting; its splendour spread from high in the heavens to the rugged range that yesterday had resisted them. On that vast canvas were painted salmon-coloured clouds with long ribbons of yellow, bearing the lustre of burnished gold.
It was the extreme of grandeur, awe-inspiring and ennobling. The evening was very still.