o,
wood handy, and a nearby valley to be a bed ground for the herd; a
valley wide, open, free from brush, gully or dog holes.

They dragged up a great pile of mesquite roots and built a fire; Pat
went to watch his horses and Johnny returned to the lake. Henry drove
the wagon into the lake, hub deep; Johnny stood on the hub and dipped
buckets of water, which he handed up for the cook to pour into the
barrel.

While these two filled the barrel the grumbling night wrangler drove
on to the fire; when the slow chuck wagon trundled up, the night-hawk
had unharnessed his span of mules, spread his roll in the cool shade
under the bed wagon, and was already asleep. The cook tossed down the
odd beds, handed down to Johnny certain pots, pans, ovens; he jumped
down--slap, snap, clatter, flash!--the ovens were on the fire, the
chuck box open, flour in the bread pan; Henry was at his profession,
mixing bread on the table made by the open lid of the chuck box,
upheld by a hinged leg which fell into place as the lid tilted down.

Johnny unharnessed; he unrolled a tarp which wrapped a quarter of
beef, and hung the beef on the big brake; he filled the ten-gallon
coffee kettle and took it to the fire.

"Henry," he said cautiously, "can you let me have some cold bread and
meat--enough for night and morning? I'm for Hillsboro. Goin' to make a
dry camp beyond the river somewhere. Hillsboro's too far and Garfield
not far enough. So I don't want to stay at the settlements to-night.
I'll lay out and stake my horse, I reckon. Got to find the John Cross
wagon to-morrow, and it'll take me all my time--so I don't want to
wait for dinner."

"Humph!" With a single motion Henry flirted a shovelful of glowing
coals from the fire; a second motion twisted a small meat oven into
place over those coals. A big spoonful of lard followed. "Rustle a can
and boil you some coffee. Open can tomatoes; pour 'em in a plate. Use
can. Ground coffee in box--top shelf. I'll have bread done for you
when coffee boils!"

While he spoke his hands were busy. He dragged from the chuck box a
dishpan full of steaks, cut the night before. With a brisk slap he
spread a mighty steak on the chuck box lid, sprinkled it with salt,
swept it through the flour in his bread pan with precisely the
wrist-twisting motion of a man stropping a razor, and spread the
steak in the hissing lard.

"Cook you another bimeby for night," he grunted, and emptied his
sour-dough sponge into the