It might be that he would have to camp out all night.

The Kid had loved those cowboy yarns where the teller--who was always the hero--had been caught out somewhere and had been compelled to make a "dry camp." His favorite story of that type was the story of how Happy Jack had lost his clothes and had to go naked through the breaks.

It was not often that he could make Happy Jack tell him that story--never when the other boys were around.

And there were other times; when Pink had got lost, down in the breaks, and had found a cabin just--in--TIME, with Irish sick inside and a blizzard just blowing outside, and they were mad at each other and wouldn't talk, and all they had to eat was one weenty, teenty snow-bird, till the yearling heifer came and Pink killed it and they had beefsteak and got good friends again.

And there were other times, that others of the boys could tell about, and that the Kid thought about now with pounding pulse.