And here the first trouble arose with Injun; that of leaving his six-guns behind.  It took some time to coax him to do this; to entrust them to the safe in the ranch house.  But, that done, it was necessary only to get Mr. Sherwood’s permission and to make the preparations.  Mr. Sherwood was not in the ranch house, nor in the bunk house, where Bill Jordan was starting one of his lengthy yarns.  Whitey paused there for a moment.

“What I don’t know about boys a tongue-tied man could tell in half a second,” Bill was saying.

“A tongue-tied man couldn’t tell nothin’ in half a second,” objected Shorty Palmer.

“That’s just what I mean,” Bill said.  “There ain’t nothin’ to tell.  Now, ‘bout a boy bein’ civil.  You don’t often find one, out West here, and when you do it’s mostly accident; mebbe inherited.  ’Course you c’n train a boy t’ be p’lite, but you got t’ be careful, like in trainin’ any other animal, an’ not take th’ spunk outa him.  Most folks thinks that when a boy’s civil he ain’t got nothin’ else t’ recommend him, but ’tain’t allus so.  Now, I knowed a boy, onc’t—­”

But Whitey fled.  He could not afford to wait for Bill’s story, which probably would take all the morning.  He found his father, overcame that gentleman’s objections to the pioneer hunting trip, and Injun and Whitey had a busy time gathering the food, weapons, and clothing for their journey to the mountains, where the simple life was to be led.

It was shortly after noon when they rode away, the men on the ranch watching, and perhaps each feeling in his heart a little twinge, as though he’d like to be a kid again, and up to some such boyish prank.  Whitey was on Monty, Injun on his pinto, leading a pack-horse laden with their few belongings.  From the corral the intelligent eyes of the iron-gray colt regarded them with interest; the colt that was to be trained for racing, and that Whitey hoped to ride in rodeos.

This country was so full of game that all one had to do was to go a mile from any town, in any direction, to find it.  Prairie chickens were most prolific; the principal game.  They were so plentiful that one could walk through thousands of them and they would part and allow the hunter to move among them, without taking wing.

Of course, one never would dream of shooting at a bird unless it was on the wing.  The only time that was excusable was when hunting for partridges among the trees in the foothills.  Usually Injun with his bow and arrow would take first shot at the partridge as it perched in the tree branches.  If he missed, which he seldom did, Whitey would let go his shot-gun when the partridge was on the wing.  And as Injun seldom missed, Mr. Partridge lost both ways.  But this day the shot-gun was at home, so Injun bagged all the partridges they needed for food.

The prairie chickens have a peculiar call.  First the hens cry, in a high, treble, “Chuck-luck, chuck-a-luck!” and the male replies, in a deep, full sound, “Bomb-bombo-boo!”