"
Ben looked surprised.
"Didn't you ever shoot pickerel? We can shoot trout in the same way.
Come, Ben, follow me, and we'll see if we can't have a good supper,
after all."
Leaving their mustangs to gather a supper from the scanty herbage in
their neighborhood, the two friends made their way to the brook. It
had seemed very near, but proved to be fully a quarter of a mile
away. When they reached it they brought their guns into requisition,
and soon obtained an appetizing mess of trout, which only needed the
service of fire to make a meal fit for an epicure.
"I can hardly wait to have them cooked," sard Ben. "I'm as hungry as
a hunter. I understand what that means now."
"I sha'n't have any trouble in keeping up with you, Ben," said his
companion. "We'll have a supper fit for a king."
They gathered some dry sticks, and soon a fire was blazing, which,
in the cool night air, sent out a welcome heat.
After supper they lay down on their backs and looked up into the
darkening sky. Ben felt that it was a strange situation. They were
in the heart of the Sierras, miles, perhaps many miles, away from
any human being, thousands of miles away from the quiet village
where Ben had first seen the light.
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