“Come along, Miss Allen!” exclaimed Enoch.  “I’ll show you a camp that’s run by an expert.”

Mack and Curly groaned and followed Enoch and Diana down to the cave, Jonas and Na-che appearing shortly.  Jonas, hobbling to the cave opening stood for a moment, gazing at the group around the fire in silent despair.  Finally he said: 

“When I get back to Washington, if I live to get there, they’ll put me out of the Baptist Church as a liar, if I try to tell ’em what I been through.  Boss, what you trying to do?”

“Dress these quail,” grunted Enoch.

Jonas gave Curly and Mack a withering glance, started to speak, swallowed something and said, “How come you to think you was a butcher, boss?  Leave me get my hands on those birds.  I should think you done enough, killing ’em.”

“No,” said Enoch, “I’m the cook for to-night.  But, Jonas, old man, if you aren’t too knocked up, you might make some biscuit.”

“Jonas looks to me,” suggested Mack, “like a cup of coffee and a seat by the fire was about his limit to-night.  I’ll get the rest of the grub, if you’ll tend to the quail, Judge.  Curly, you go out and unpack for Diana.  We’ll turn the cave over to you and Na-che to-night, Diana.”

Diana, who was sitting on a rock by the fire, long, slender legs crossed, hands clasping one knee, an amused spectator of the scene, looked up at Mack with a smile.

“Indeed you won’t, Mack.  Na-che and I have our tent.  We’ll put it up in the sand, as usual.  And tomorrow, having delivered our prize package, we’ll be on our way.”

Enoch looked up quickly.  “Don’t be selfish, Miss Allen!” he exclaimed.

“That’s the idea!” Mack joined in vehemently.  Then he added, with a grin, “The Judge has plumb ruined our quiet little expedition anyhow.  And after two weeks of him and Curly, I’m darn glad to see you, Diana.  How’s your Dad?”

“Very well, indeed!  If he had had any idea that I was going on this sort of trip, though, I think he’d have insisted on coming with me.  Judge, let me finish those birds.  You’re ruining them.”

“Whose quail are these, I’d like to know?” demanded Enoch.

“Yours,” replied Diana meekly, “but I had thought that some edible portion besides the pope’s nose and the neck ought to be left on them.”

Jonas, who had been crouching uneasily on a rock, a disapproving spectator of the scene, groaned audibly.  Na-che now came into the glow of the fire.  She was a comely-faced woman, of perhaps forty-five, neatly dressed in a denim suit.  Her black eyes twinkled as she took in the situation.

“Na-che, you come over here and sit down by me,” said Jonas.  “If I can’t help, neither can you.”

Na-che smiled, showing strong white teeth.  “You feel sick from the saddle, eh, Jonas?”

“Don’t you worry about that, woman!  I’ll show you I’m as good as any Indian buck that ever lived!”