"Thinking about our visitors of the other night!" Walter inquired.
Charley nodded. "If they meant any good to us, why did they not make their presence known to us," he reasoned. "Mark my words, we have not seen the last of them,—but hush, here comes the captain and Chris, there is no need to worry them with vague conjectures."
"See that prairie ahead, Charley?" asked the captain. "Chris says there's a big bird in the middle of it, but I can't see anything but grass."
The party was now only a few hundred yards from the small prairie-like patch. Charley rose in his stirrups and scanned it carefully.
"Chris is right," he said. "It's a big sand-hill crane."
"Good to eat, Massa Charley?" demanded the little darky, eagerly.
"I have eaten some that were equal to the finest turkey."
"Dat settles it," Chris shouted. "Golly, I reckon dis nigger goin' to show you chillens how to shoot some. My shot, I seed him first."
"Don't shoot, Chris," said Charley, gently, "you can't get it and it won't be fit to eat if you do."
But Chris' obstinacy and pompous vanity were aroused. "Tink dis nigger can't shoot, eh? You-alls just watch an' Chris will show you chillens somfin'."