“We shall most surely follow them and recover our property, shall we
not?”
“Not,” answered Ike. I am leaving off the prefix “Mr.” as they rarely
use it in conversation.
“But,” said I, “it is a plain case of theft, is it not?”
“Well,” replied Dirty Shirt, “you can call it anything from petty
larceny to train robbery, professor, but I’d be —— if I ever was so
fond of sheep that I’d sacrifice my skin in their interests.”
“Do you mean you are going to let them keep the sheep?” asked
Middleton.
“——’s delight!” exclaimed Dirty Shirt. “You still talking sheep? Let’s
go back to the rag shanty and scare up a feed.”
So back we went. They showed no worry over the loss of the sheep, and
I am certain they must be of value. The chops alone would be
worth— But why quote prices? They led us back to the tent, and then
Dirty Shirt said:
“If you pelicans want to be regular shepherds you’ve got to learn how
to cook. See what you can find in your own packs and then scare up a
batch of biscuits.”
Our pack-luggage had been stacked in front of the tent, and as I
walked over to investigate our provender Dirty Shirt added—
“Cook anything you see, ’cause my big insides are eating up the little
ones.”
He did not use the word “insides,” but its vulgar equivalent.
“Scare up a biscuit?” asked Middleton. “How does one scare a biscuit?”
“Build a fire in the stove,” said Dirty Shirt. “All you have to do is
touch a match to the kindling, as the fire is all set. Then we’ll show
you the next step.”