at
we fellows who keep the law let the game live on purpose so that
everybody will have an equal chance at it, and then fellows like you
come along and kill it unfairly. See?"

Humph! The two kids mumbled and kicked at the fire, as they sat; and Bat
said: "We've got to have something to eat. I suppose we can cook our own
meat, can't we?"

"I suppose you can," answered General Ashley, "if it'll taste good to
you."

So, while Fitz was cooking on the small fire, they cleaned their own
birds (I didn't touch them) and cooked over some coals of the big fire.
But Fitz made bread enough for all, and there was other stuff; and the
general told them to help themselves. We didn't want to be mean. The
camp-fire is no place to be mean at. A mean fellow doesn't last long,
out camping.

They had used bark for plates. They gave their fry-pan a hasty rub with
sticks and grass, and cleaned their knives by sticking them into the
ground; and then they squatted by the fire and lighted pipes. After our
dishes had been washed and things had been put away for the night, and
the burros picketed in fresh forage, we prepared to turn in. The clouds
were low and the sky was dark, and the air was damp and chilly; so
General Ashley said:

"You fellows can bunk in with us, under the tarps. We can make room."

But no! They just laughed. "Gwan," they said. "We're used to traveling
light. We just roll up in a blanket wherever we happen to be. We aren't
tenderfeet."

Well, we weren't, either. But we tried to be comfortable. When you are
uncomfortable and sleep cold or crampy, that takes strength fighting it;
and we were on the march to get that message through. So we crawled into
bed, out of the wind and where the spruce branches partly sheltered us,
and our tarps kept the dampness out and the wind, too. The two fellows
opened their blankets (they had one apiece!) by the fire and lay down
and rolled up like logs and seemed to think that they were the smarter.
We let them, if they liked it so.

The wind moaned through the trees; all about us the timber was dark and
lonesome. Only Apache and Sally, the burros, once in a while grunted as
they stood as far inside the circle as they could get; but snuggled in
our bed, low down, our heads on our coats, we were as warm as toast.

During the night I woke up, to turn over. Now and then a drop of rain
hit the tarp tent. The fire was going again, and I could hear the two
fellows talking. They were sittin