faulty girth, the stuffing of
a saddle which had become lumpy, or a buckle which had torn away. When
these were all in order, there was the everlasting "damper" to make.
Vaughan volunteered to become assistant cook if Mick would give him
lessons in the great bush art of damper-making.

"You'd better start on Johnny-cakes," said the drover. "The mixture's
just the same, but if you make a mess you won't spoil a whole damper.
You watch me to-day. You can try your hand to-morrow, if you like."

It was still an hour or so before sunrise when the white boys had their
first lesson in bush cookery. Mick went over to one of the packs and
pulled out a seventy-pound bag of flour about half full. He untied the
mouth of the bag and took out a tin of baking-powder. Then he spread a
folded sack on the sand, and piled on it about five double handfuls of
flour, mixing a lidful of baking-powder with it. He gave this a good
stir round, dry as it was, and then made a hollow in the middle and
poured in water in which a little salt had been dissolved. The proper
mixing of the dough only came by experience, Mick told them; as dry as
possible and yet damp enough to stick together. The work was done
quickly but thoroughly.

"If you wanted it for a damper," explained Mick, giving the dough a
final roll, "you'd put the whole lot in together. But I'll show you
Johnny-cakes first; they're easier and don't take so long."

He divided the dough into little pieces and rolled each out in his
hands till it was the size and shape of an ordinary bun. He arranged
these on the bag and pulled it near the fire. "I always let the things
rise for a couple of minutes," he said. "Some chaps don't, but I
always do."

Then he prepared the fire for cooking. Every fragment of blazing wood
was put on one side, and a heap of soft glowing ashes left. With a
curved stick, this pile was scooped about till it was like a very big
saucer, all glowing hot and yet not actually burning. On this warm bed
the Johnny-cakes were dropped, leaving a space between each so that
they wouldn't run together. When all the white balls of dough were in
place, Mick flicked some of the ashes from the edge of the hollow on to
them, gradually increasing the amount till the cakes were covered right
over and the whole affair was a mound of grey with no sign of the
cooking cakes.

"How long before they're done?" asked Vaughan.

"Depends," answered Mick. "Depends on the size