And then I didn't like to."
"You got afraid," Roaring Bill supplied. "Well, it does sound creepy
to holler in the timber after night. I know how that goes. I've made
noises after night that scared myself."
He dug some utensils out of his pack layout--two plates, knife, fork,
and spoons, and laid them by the fire. Opposite the meat a pot of
water bubbled. Roaring Bill produced a small tin bucket, black with
the smoke of many an open fire, and a package, and made coffee. Then
he spread a canvas sheet, and laid on that bread, butter, salt, a jar
of preserved fruit.
"How far is it to Cariboo Meadows?" Hazel asked.
Bill looked up from his supper preparations.
"You've got me," he returned carelessly. "Probably four or five miles.
I'm not positive; I've been running in circles myself this afternoon."
"Good heavens!" Hazel exclaimed. "But you know the way?"
"Like a book--in the daytime," he replied. "But night in the timber is
another story, as you've just been finding out for yourself."
"I thought men accustomed to the wilderness could always find their way
about, day or night," Hazel observed tartly.
"They can--in stories," Bill answered dryly.
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