I had none! I realized it that moment.  I had got it out at the first camp to record in my diary the place, weather, temperature, and my own pulse rate, which I had been advised to watch, on account of the effect of altitude on the heart, and had left the bottle sitting on a stone.

When I confessed this to Tish, she was unjustly angry and a trifle bitter.

“It’s what I deserve, most likely, for bringing along two incompetents,” was her brief remark.  “Without ink we are weaponless.”

But she is a creature of resource, and a moment later she emerged from the tent and called to Bill in a cheerful tone.

“No ink, Bill,” she said, “but we’ve got blackberry cordial, and by mixing it with a little soot we may be able to manage.”

Aggie demurred loudly, as there are occasions when only a mouthful of the cordial enables her to keep doing.  But Tish was firm.  When I went to the fire, I found Bill busily carving wooden revolvers, copying Tish’s, which lay before him.  He had them done well enough, and could have gone for the horses as easy as not, but he insisted on trimming them up.  Mine, which I still have, has a buffalo head carved on the handle, and Aggie’s has a wreath of leaves running round the barrel.

In spite of Aggie’s wails Tish poured a large part of the blackberry cordial into a biscuit pan, and put in a chip of wood.

“It makes it red,” she said doubtfully.  “I never saw a red revolver, Bill.”

“Seems like an awful waste,” Bill said.  But having now completed the wreath he placed all three weapons—­he had made one for himself—­in the pan.  The last thing I saw, as I started for the horses, was the three of them standing about, looking down, and Aggie’s face was full of misery.

I was gone for a half-hour.  The horses had not wandered far, and having mounted mine, although without a saddle, I copied as well as I could the whoop Bill used to drive them in, and rounded them up.  When I returned, driving them before me, the pack was ready, and on Tish’s face was a look of intense satisfaction.  I soon perceived the reason.

Lying on a stone by the fire were three of the shiniest black revolvers any one could want.  I eyed Tish and she explained.

“Stove polish,” she said.  “Like a fool I’d forgot it.  Gives a true metallic luster, as it says on the box.”

Tish is very particular about a stove, and even on our camping-trips we keep the portable stove shining and clean.

“Does it come off?”

“Well, more or less,” she admitted.  “We can keep the box out and renew when necessary.  It is a great comfort,” she added, “to feel that we are all armed.  We shall need weapons.”

“In an emergency,” I observed rather tartly, “I hope you will not depend on us too much.  While I don’t know what you intend to do, if it is anything desperate, just remember that the only way Aggie or I can do any damage with these things is to thrust them down somebody’s throat and strangle him to death.”