from the home ranch and in a few days they are
done. Beans are the main standby, portable, wholesome, and capable of
going far, besides being easily cooked, although curiously enough a
great deal of mystery is supposed to lie about the bean-pot. No two
cooks quite agree on the methods of making beans do their best, and,
after petting and coaxing and nursing the savory mess,--well oiled and
mellowed with bacon boiled into the heart of it,--the proud cook will
ask, after dishing out a quart or two for trial, "Well, how do you like
_my_ beans?" as if by no possibility could they be like any other beans
cooked in the same way, but must needs possess some special virtue of
which he alone is master. Molasses, sugar, or pepper may be used to give
desired flavors; or the first water may be poured off and a spoonful or
two of ashes or soda added to dissolve or soften the skins more fully,
according to various tastes and notions. But, like casks of wine, no two
potfuls are exactly alike to every palate. Some are supposed to be
spoiled by the moon, by some unlucky day, by the beans having been grown
on soil not suitable; or the whole year may be to blame as not favorable
for beans.

Coffee, too, has its marvels in the camp kitchen, but not so many, and
not so inscrutable as those that beset the bean-pot. A low, complacent
grunt follows a mouthful drawn in with a gurgle, and the remark cast
forth aimlessly, "That's good coffee." Then another gurgling sip and
repetition of the judgment, "_Yes, sir_, that _is_ good coffee." As to
tea, there are but two kinds, weak and strong, the stronger the better.
The only remark heard is, "That tea's weak," otherwise it is good enough
and not worth mentioning. If it has been boiled an hour or two or smoked
on a pitchy fire, no matter,--who cares for a little tannin or creosote?
they make the black beverage all the stronger and more attractive to
tobacco-tanned palates.

Sheep-camp bread, like most California camp bread, is baked in Dutch
ovens, some of it in the form of yeast powder biscuit, an unwholesome
sticky compound leading straight to dyspepsia. The greater part,
however, is fermented with sour dough, a handful from each batch being
saved and put away in the mouth of the flour sack to inoculate the
next. The oven is simply a cast-iron pot, about five inches deep and
from twelve to eighteen inches wide. After the batch has been mixed and
kneaded in a tin pan the oven is slightly heated an