He pulled of the saddle, laid it down on its side so that the skirts would not bend out of shape--oh, he had been well-taught, with the whole Happy Family for his worshipful tutors!--and untied the rope from beside the fork.
"I'll have to anchor you to a tree, old-timer," he told the horse briskly.

"I'd sure hate to be set afoot in this man's country!" And a minute later--"Oh, funder! I never brought you any sugar!" Would you believe it, that small child of the Flying U picketed his horse where the grass was best, and the knots he tied were the knots his dad would have tied in his place.

He unrolled his blanket and carried it to the sheltered little nook under the ledge, and dragged the bag of doughnuts and the jelly and honey and bread after it.

He had heard about thievish animals that will carry off bacon and flour and such.

He knew that he ought to hang his grub in a tree, but he could not reach up as far as the fox who might try to help himself, so that was out of the question.
The Kid ate a doughnut while he studied the matter out for himself.