breaking open the clay balls and exposing the grouse cooked to a turn with all the feathers adhering to the clay, leaving the flesh as smooth and clean as if it had been carefully plucked. And the odor was very pleasing.
“Fix some salt pork and taters for the younker, Charlie,” ordered Abner. “He don’t care for fowl.”
“I—I beg your pardon, Mr. Whitten, and yours, Charlie,” stuttered Stanley. “But I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have some of the bird.”
“You should say what you mean at the goin,” rebuked Abner, eying the breakfast gloomily as he feared there would not be enough to go around. However, when he fell to he ate but little, and Bub winked luxuriously at Stanley.
“Hurry up. Time to go,” said Charlie, sententiously, beginning to pack the knapsacks.
“Where are we bound for?” eagerly asked Stanley, recalling the excitement of the night before.
“Ye and Bub will go to a place we have picked out for ye. Ye are to stay there till me and Charlie call for ye,” said Abner.
“Where is it?” asked Bub, showing no surprise.
“Charlie will show ye the trail,” replied Ab-
