“Me, too,” chimed in Fat, reaching for his haversack.  “Hungry’s no name, and I don’t believe I brought enough grub, either.”

“Stop!” shouted Ham.  “Now, Mr. Philip Dennis, Jr., hear your humble servant, the Spook Doctor, for just about a second.  Long, long ago, even before our friend, Zebulon Pike, took his first peek at Pike’s Peak, there was a custom common to all the Indian tribes about us,” making a gesture to include all the surrounding country, “and it was believed absolutely necessary to the happiness and well-being of their mighty warriors to indulge in this orgy at stated seasons.”  Ham was making wild gestures as he went on with his mock oratory.  “Never was a hunt started, never was a journey undertaken, never a distant quest sought after, until the tribe had first slept, then gathered around the mystic altar of the Spook Doctor.”

“Ham, you’re a regular heathen,” called Mr. Allen from his blanket.  “What has the altar got to do with it, anyway?”

“Well, it’s just like this,” continued Ham.  “After the first night’s slumbers we build an Indian signal fire just like this, then in bare feet and empty stomachs we dance around the fire and implore the Mighty Night Wind to interpret the dreams we have had during our first night out.  They never fail to disclose the outcome of the journey, whether it will be a success or a failure.”  As he bent over and lighted the fire, he said, “You may be seated.”

The childishness of it all appealed to every one of them, and they did as they were commanded.  Then Ham solemnly and weirdly called, “Fat, you’re first.  Hurry, while the smoke is curling, curling upward.”

Fat arose and made mock obeisance to the fire.

“My dream was a very queer one, but most too short to have a real meaning.  I dreamed I was in a big barnyard and all I could see was pigs—­little pigs, big pigs, and all kinds of pigs—­and they were all standing around an empty trough.  Now, Mr. Wise Man, tell me what that has to do with a quest for a cabin site, will you?”

Phil rolled over and chuckled to himself.  “Oho, Fat, you will eat bacon for supper, will you? while your poor fellow-travelers sup on a rare and expensive can of beans.  Ha-ha-ha!  Eat pork and you dream of pigs.”

Ham looked long into the fire, then, turning, cried out: 

“I have it, I have it, the Spirit speaks.  Fat, you will run out of provisions long before this journey is over.  You will eat all you have by to-morrow, and never think of the days to follow.  Beware, for so the Spirit tells me.”

A roar of laughter went up from the others.

“Mr. Allen, your dream next,” called Ham, mystically.

“Well, I dreamed of beautiful autumn days, spent in a splendid grove of trees, cutting choice timbers for a cabin; and then I dreamed of a crowd of old men, sitting before an open fire-place, telling about how they had built a cabin long years before, when they were boys.”