had to feast by proxy. The menu started with a hambone soup, and
a nice broiled mountain trout, captured in a big hole where Pony and
Rock Creek join forces. Winter trout being so great a luxury, Jack
forgot his table etiquette and asked for a second portion, and being
refused, he made a fierce onslaught upon the piece de resistance, no
more and no less than a blue grouse roasted before the fire, as they
roasted turkeys in the days of the Pilgrim Fathers. Jack used one of the
metal joints of the cleaning rod belonging to his rifle as a spit, and
as he turned the bird slowly and basted it with venison fat he wondered,
if his guests could really drop in for a moment, what they would say
about his culinary efforts. The bird was stuffed with real sage
dressing; not quite so good as mother used to make, as the mountain sage
is a trifle stronger. When finished the grouse was garnished with
juniper berries and spruce buds, these being the winter food of the
grouse. There was a distinct flavor of the juniper in the meat. Then
came an entree of young elk brains and another of Big Horn kidney stew.
Jack was shy on vegetables of any kind, except Rock Creek baked beans,
cooked all night in a Dutch oven sunk in the hot ashes of the camp fire;
two kinds of bread, baking powder and sour dough, the first being hot
biscuit, the latter nice big slices of cold white bread, never free from
the name it bears. Stewed prunes and baked apple dumpling constituted
the pastry, while black coffee in a tin cup and sparkling Rock Creek
water served for liquids.

Jack had finished the "dishes," the last rattle of tin plates, pans, cup
and skillets had re-echoed from the depths of the "china" closet, and he
had settled himself for a chat with his pipe, when Chiquita bounded into
camp all excitement and panting for breath.

"Colorow gone Sulphur Springs. Take 'em many ponies" (counting forty
with her fingers). "All Utes except old men and Yamanatz go too. Mebbe
so come back with bullets, powder, bacon, flour," and she stopped to
breathe.

Jack contemplated, and while he did so Chiquita cast wistful eyes at the
remains of the midday banquet. The longing expression was not a new one
to Jack. He knew from experience that Chiquita was a good eater, in fact
all Indians had that failing, so he motioned the belle of the village to
a seat on the end of a log near by and proceeded to dish her up a square
meal. He knew that Yamanatz would be coming along soon,