THE LAST CAMP 191 



fact, though, most of the natives, who can get both, 

 prefer good beef to venison any time. 



We had a visitor that night. It was just dusk, 

 and Bert was putting the finishing touches on the 

 steak. We were startled on a sudden by a shrill 

 falsetto yell. It sounded like a woman in distress. 

 We listened breathless for a moment and the sound 

 was repeated, near at hand. Then out of the woods 

 along the trail there trotted a raw-boned white horse 

 with a very small rider in sombrero and leather 

 chaps, leading a pack mule by a tie rope. He waved 

 to us as he approached and Brown rose to his feet 

 with an exclamation of surprise. 



"I'll be doggoned ef hit ain't that there crazy kid 

 brother of mine," he said; "what in thunder d'you 

 reckon he's a-doin', comin' out yere!" 



The boy alighted somewhat stiffly, and proceeded 

 to answer the question himself. 



"I done brought you all some veg 'tables," were 

 the first words he spoke, nodding to the pack on the 

 mule. "LeP Hillsboro this mawnin' at sun-up an' 

 bin ridin' ever sence." 



"Chuck's ready!" yelled Bert, at this juncture; 

 "come an' git it 'fore I throw it out!" 



Comment and inquiry were postponed for the time 

 being. We discovered later that little Johnny 

 Brown, who was just nine years old, had travelled 

 forty miles that day alone over the rough mountain 

 trails on the chance of striking our camp. His 

 father had allowed him to take the trip as a birth- 



