te piled high with biscuits that were
evidently the present pride of her heart. "Made a-plenty," she
announced. "Had to wrastle Pedro away from the stove an' I ain't quite
on to that oven yet, but they look good, don't they?"

"They sure do," said Sandy, taking one to break and butter it. The
eagerness with which his jaws clamped down upon it died into a
meditative chewing as of a cow uncertain about the quality of her cud.
He swallowed, took a deep swig of coffee and deliberately went on with
his biscuit. Mormon and Sam solemnly followed his example while Molly
beamed at them.

"You don't _say_ they're good?" she said.

"Too busy eating," said Sandy. And winked at Sam.

Molly caught the wink, took a biscuit, buttered it, bit into it.

Camp-bread and biscuits, eaten in the open, garnished with the
wilderness sauce that creates appetite, eaten piping hot, are mighty
palatable though the dough is mixed with water and shortening is
lacking. As a camp cook, Molly was a success. Confused with Pedro's
offer of lard and a stove that was complicated compared to her Dutch
kettle, the result was a bitter failure that she acknowledged as soon as
her teeth met through the deceptive crust.

Molly was slow to tears and quick to wrath. She picked up the plate of
biscuits and marched out with them, her back very straight. In the
kitchen the three partners heard first the smash of crockery, then the
bang of a pan, a staccato volley of words. She came in again,
empty-handed, eyes blazing.

"There's no bread. Pedro's makin' hot cakes." Then, as they looked at
her solemnly: "You think you're damned smart, don't you, tryin' to fool
me, purtendin' they was good when they'd pizen the chickens? I hate
folks who _act_ lies, same as them that speaks 'em."

"I've tasted worse," said Mormon. "Honest I have, Molly. My first wife
put too much saleratus an' salt in at first but, after a bit, she was a
wonder--as a cook."

Molly, as always, melted to his grin.

"I ain't got no mo' manners than a chuckawaller," she said penitently.
"Sandy, would you bring me a cook-book in from town?"

"Got one somewheres around."

"No we ain't. Mormon used the leaves for shavin'," said Sam. "Last
winter. W'udn't use his derned ol' catalogue."

"I'll git one," said Sandy. "Here's the hot cakes."

They devoured the savory stacks, spread with butter and sage-honey, in
comparative silence. There came the noise of the riders going off for
the day's duties