Hughie was cook for the day, and he came chill and stiff-fingered
to his task. Summer as it was, there lay a thin coating of ice
round the edges of the stream, for they had camped in an altitude
of about nine thousand feet. The "King" had wakened in a vile
humor. He had a splitting headache, as was natural under the
circumstances and he had not left in his bottle a single drink to
tide him over it. He came cursing to the struggling fire, which
was making only fitful headway against the rain which beat down
upon it.
"Why didn't y'u build your fire on the side of the tree?" he
growled at Hughie.
Now, Hughie was a tenderfoot, and in his knowledge of outdoor
life he was still an infant. "I didn't know--" he was beginning,
when his master cut him short with a furious tongue lashing out
of all proportion to the offense.
The lad's face blanched with fear, and his terror was so manifest
that the bully, who was threatening him with all manner of evils,
began to enjoy himself. Chalkeye, returning from watering the
horses, got back in time to hear the intemperate fag-end of the
scolding. He glanced at Hughie, whose hands were trembling in
spite of him, and then darkly at the brute who was attacking him.
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