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It was long after dark when I reached camp and was greeted by my friend and guide with “Gol durn your pictur tenderfut, if it hain’t tuk you longer to get a pesky mess of yaller fish than it orter to kill a bar.”
The longer I questioned myself, the less was my ability to answer. I sat on a stone and for some time was lost in thought. When at length I looked up it was to see Big Pete with folded arms silently gazing at the barricaded exit and the muddy pool of water extending for some distance back of the gateway into the park. “Well, tenderfut, you was dead right in your judication.
“Wuss,” said Pete, “hit’s a landslide.” Instantly a thought went through my brain like a hot bullet and made me shudder. “Pete,” I shouted. “I’m right hyer, tenderfut, you needn’t holler so loud,” he answered, and calmly filled his pipe.
Mike shook his head and lifted a finger for silence. Then the girls heard a faint clip-clop of hoof-beats on the rocky trail leading along Top Notch. "Two tenderfut 'mos' catch up. We-all wait an' talkee," suggested Mike, settling himself in his saddle to await the riders. "Mike's right, because they will only follow us and find out where our claim is located, if we start on now," added Polly.
I flung myself impulsively on my companion, grasped his big brawny shoulders, and with my face close to his I whispered, “Pete, I believe the slide occurred at the gate.” “Well, hit did sound that-a-way,” admitted Pete composedly. “Pete,” I continued, “that butte has caved in on our trail!” “Wull, tenderfut, we ain’t hurt, be we?
Having satisfied himself, Mike came over to Mr. Brewster and announced, abruptly: "Tree miner gone aleddy two tenderfut comin'." "Three up there already! By the Great Horned Spoon! how did they do it?" cried Sam Brewster, aghast at the idea that perhaps they would have trouble when they reached Polly's mine. "Maybe the three gone on ahead have no idea that we found gold up there.
When it came to making the coat and trousers Big Pete spent a long time in solemn thought before he was ready to begin work on these garments; at length he looked up with a broad smile and cried: “See here, Le-loo, I have taken a fancy to them ’ere tenderfut pants o’ your’n.
“You see, tenderfut, it’s like this,” he said, “when a man goes out to kill a deer for the fun of blood-spilling or to get th’ poor critter’s head to hang in his shack, he’s nothing more than a wolf or butcher; hain’t half as good a man as the one who never shot a deer, but goes back home and lies about it. The liar hain’t harmed nothin’ with his lies.
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