'
'When we come back, indeed!' exclaimed Bell. 'Why, we shall write
long round-robin letters every few days, and send them by the team.
Papa says Pancho will have to go over to the stage station at least
once a week for letters and any provisions we may need.'
'Oh, won't that be delightful,--almost as good as being there myself!
And, Margery dear, you must make them tell me every least little
thing that happens. You know they are such fly-aways that they'll
only write me when they learn to swim, or shoot a wildcat, or get
lost in the woods. I want to know all the stupid bits: what you
have for dinner, how and where you sleep, how your camp looks, what
you do from morning till night, and how Dicky behaves.'
'I can tell you that beforehand,' said Bell, dolefully. 'Jack will
shoot him by mistake on Thursday; he will be kicked by the horses
Friday, and bitten by tarantulas and rattlesnakes Saturday; he will
eat poison oak on Sunday, get lost in the canyon Monday, be eaten by
a bear Tuesday, and drowned in the pool Wednesday. These incidents
will complete his first week; and if they produce no effect on his
naturally strong constitution, he will treat us to another week,
containing just as many mishaps, but no duplicates.'
By the time this dismal prophecy was ended the other girls were in a
breathless fit of laughter, though all acknowledged it was likely to
be fulfilled.
'I went over the camping-ground last summer,' said Margery.
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