r in search of a rabbit,
while Chiquita attended to her morning ablutions. About the time that
the average city girl would have consumed with curling tongs, cashmere
bouquet and in getting her hat on straight, Jack returned with a nice
fat "jack" of the _lepus cuniculus_ family, all ready for the
coals. It did not take long to cook the choice cuts from the delectable
portions of "Bunny." The seasoning was rather crude, consisting of
powder taken from a misfire cartridge, which Jack happened to have in
his belt. But "saltpeter in gunpowder is better than no salt at all" is
an old axiom among hunters. This addition to the "hollow mockery" larder
sent their spirits up to the top of the goodfellowship thermometer.

"A burned hare is worth two in the bush," said Jack, as he irreverently
twisted a trite quotation and rabbit leg. But Chiquita kept right on in
her argument with a section of the vertebra just roasted on a forked
stick.

After the first pangs of hunger had been somewhat appeased the Indian
girl said to Jack, "What you call 'em little things use all same knife
when eat off tin plate?"

Jack recalled the fact of some cheap silver-plated forks that made up
the camp kit.

"Forks," he replied, adding, as Chiquita seemed to want further
information, "The fair sisters of Jack no eat 'em venison with fingers,
all same Chiquita. Think 'em Chiquita wild girl. When Jack come back
bring 'em forks and spoons for Chiquita."

To this she seemed satisfied, but remarked: "Mebbe so fingers pale face
girl good play 'em tom-tom, make 'em beadwork, wash 'em tin plates. No
good catch 'em pony, cut 'em firewood, make 'em buckskin."

With this she scornfully turned her lip up in a manner that made Jack
laugh outright, a proceeding that always made Chiquita's eyes snap with
dangerous fire. He quieted her by pointing at the sun as an indication
that it was time to say adios. The ponies were brought up and quickly
saddled, Jack's belongings packed in the most approved fashion to stand
another hard climb over the Gore range, and Chiquita's restive "Bonito"
carefully cinched for the return trip to the Indian village. The last
point of the "diamond hitch" had been made and the rope drawn taut; the
last knot had been tied over the roll of blankets behind Jack's saddle,
and the last of the morning's banquet had been divided between the
wayfarers, whose journeys would in a few moments lead in opposite
directions. As Chiquita arranged hers