somewhat anxiously waiting for
the result of Battersleigh's labours. Every once in a while Battersleigh
opened the oven door and peered in. "She isn't brownin' just to suit me,
Ned," he said, "but that's the fault o' the chimney." Franklin opined
that this anxiety boded no certainty of genius, but kept silent. "I'm
wonderin' if it's right about that bakin' powder?" said Battersleigh.
"Is it too late now, do ye think?"

"This isn't my pie, Battersleigh," said Franklin, "but if anything has
gone wrong with those apples it'll take more than a little diplomacy to
get you out of the trouble."

As they sat for a moment silent there came the sound of approaching
hoof-beats, and presently the cracking and popping of the feet of a
galloping horse fell into a duller crunch on the hard ground before the
door, and a loud voice called out,

"Whoa-hope, Bronch! Hello, in the house!"

"Come in, Curly," cried Battersleigh. "Come in. We've business of
importhance this mornin'."

Curly opened the door a moment later, peering in cautiously, the sunshine
casting a rude outline upon the floor, and his figure to those within
showing silhouetted against the background of light, beleggined,
befringed, and begloved after the fashion of his craft.

"How! fellers," he said, as he stooped to enter at the low door. "How is
the world usin' you all this bright and happy mornin'?"

"Pretty well, me friend," said Battersleigh, his eyes on the stove,
importantly. "Sit ye down."

Curly sat down on the edge of the bed, under whose blanket the newspapers
still rattled to the touch, "Seems like you all mighty busy this
mornin'," said he.

"Yes," said Franklin, "we've got business on hand now. You can't guess
what we're cooking."

"No; what?"

"Pie."

"Go 'long!"

"Yes, sir, pie," said Franklin firmly.

Curly leaned back on the bed upon his elbow, respectful but very
incredulous.

"Our cook made a pie, onct," said he, to show himself also a man of
worldly experience. "That was down on the Cimarron, 'bout four years
ago. We et it. I have et worse pie 'n that, an' I have et better. But
I never did git a chance to eat all the pie I wanted, not in my whole
life. Was you sayin' I'm in on this here pie?"

"Certainly you are. You wait. It'll be done now pretty soon," said
Franklin.

"If ye can poke a straw into thim, they're done," said Battersleigh
oracularly. "Curly, hand me the broom."

Curly passed over the broom, and