Wilbur was tired and his horses, fresh to the trail, were showing signs
of fatigue, so he was glad to stop.
"I don't know how you feel about it," said the Ranger, "but I reckon
I'll camp here. There's a good spring a couple of hundred feet down
stream. But you ain't used to this sort o' thing, an' maybe you'd better
keep on the trail for another half-mile till you come to a little
settlement. Somebody can put you up, I reckon."
"No need to," said the boy, "I'll camp here with you."
"Maybe you ain't used to sleepin' on the ground."
"I guess I can stand it, if you can," replied Wilbur promptly.
"Wa'al, I reckon I can," said the Ranger, "seein' that I always have an'
always do."
Wilbur had never camped in the open before without a tent or shelter of
some kind, but he would not for the world have had his Ranger think that
he was in the least disconcerted. Neither, to do him justice, was he,
but rather anticipating the night under the open sky with a good deal of
pleasure.
After the horses were unsaddled and hobbled, Rifle-Eye told Wilbur to
get the beds ready. The boy, greatly pleased with himself that he knew
how to do this without being told, picked up his ax and started for the
nearest balsam. But he found himself in somewhat of a difficulty. The
white fir grew to a much larger tree than the Balm-of-Gilead he had
known in the East, and the lower branches were tough.
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