VISITORS FOR THE FEAST
Bang! bang! sounded in the direction of the burned-over clearing.
"Let's go over and see what that means," proposed Tom.
He jumped up, ready to sprint over to the clearing.
"If you want advice," Dick offered, "I'd say to wait until the
shooting is over. You might stop a stray bullet not intended
for us."
"But what can the shooting mean" wondered Greg.
"When anyone is turning bullets loose," remarked Darry, "I'm not
too inquisitive."
So the boys waited until the firing had ceased. Then they heard
what sounded like the noise of a horse moving through the brush.
"Hello, there!" called Dick.
"Hello, yourself!" came the answer, and a mounted man rode into
view. He did not look especially ugly or dangerous; his garb
was plainly intended for the saddle. As he came into sight the
man slipped a heavy automatic revolver into a saddle holster.
"What was up?" inquired Dick, rising and going forward to meet
the newcomer.
"Stampede," replied the other briefly.
"We know something about that," Dick rejoined.
"Do you know anything about the burning of the clearing?" asked
the horseman, reining up and eyeing the lads keenly.
"Yes, sir; we fired the grass," Prescott acknowledged.
"To break the stampede?"
"No, sir; to save our camp, which would have been destroyed."
"Shake," invited the stranger, riding forward and bending over
to hold out his hand. "Your fire cost us a few cattle, but I
reckon it saved the destruction of a lot more, for there would
have been many of 'em killed if they had charged on into the deeper
forest."
"Then the stampede has been stopped?" asked Prescott.
"Yes; two of my men followed the parted trails, and came back
to report the two herds halted and grazing. My name is Ross.
I'm the owner of about a fourth of the cattle in the big herd."
"I hope you don't feel angry with us for doing the best we could
to save our camp," Dick went on.
"You saved myself and the other owners a greater loss," replied
Mr. Ross, "so I thank you."
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Ross," smiled Tom Reade. "But what
was the shooting about?"
"I shot some of the cattle that appeared to be still alive, to
put an end to their suffering. You boys haven't any ice here,
have you?"
"No, sir," Dick replied.
"Too bad," said Mr. Ross. "If you had ice I could offer you a
prime lot of beef that it will hardly pay me to move, as I can't
get the animals cut up quickly enough and on ice, after the long
haul I would have to make."
"Are you going to leave the cattle on the clearing?" Dick asked
in sudden concern.
"We'll bury the carcasses," smiled Mr. Ross. "If we didn't the
smell would soon force you boys to move your camp a mile or two.
But see here! Ever have a barbecue?"
"No, sir," Dick made answer, his voice betraying sudden interest.
"Would you like one?" went on the owner. "A barbecue, real western
style, with a whole cow on the fire?"
"It would be great!" answered nearly all of Dick & Co. in concert.
"Then we'll have one, as soon as I can call my men in," replied
Mr. Ross cheerfully. "I'm bound to get some good out of the dead
cattle."
"We'll want a lot of firewood for that, won't we?" asked Dick,
his eyes gleaming.
"More than a little," nodded Mr. Ross. "And big wood, at that."
"Dave, you and Tom had better take the axes and get some real
wood," Prescott called. "Harry and Dan will help you and bring
it in. Where shall we put the wood, Mr. Ross?"
"In the middle of the burnt clearing will be better," replied
the cattle owner. "Then the fire won't have a chance to spread
in any direction. Besides, you won't want the heat of a great
fire too close to your camp. After the meat is cooked we can
bring it over here. Have you boys plenty of canned vegetables
and the like?"
"Plenty, sir," Dick answered cheerily, though his heart sank a
trifle as he thought of how the cattle owner and his helpers might
clean out their stock.
Dick and Greg busied themselves with carrying over to the clearing
such things as Mr. Ross said that they would need. Then it was
decided that the vegetables should be cooked at the camp.
"Let me see your stock of provisions and perhaps I may get another
idea," proposed the cattle owner. "I see that you have flour,
and oh, yes; you have all that will be needed for a pudding,
and one of my men knows how to make one of the best boiled puddings
you ever ate out under the sky."
Drawing a small horn from one of his side pockets, Mr. Ross blew
a long, shrill blast.
"Jim will come in as soon as possible, after hearing that sound,"
smiled the cattle owner.
Jim Hornby rode in within five minutes. He was a lean, long,
roughened and reddened farm laborer, but when told that a boiled
pudding was wanted he walked straight to the place where the
supplies were kept.
"Everything here but berries," Jim explained. "Any of you boys
know where to get some blueberries?"
Greg knew, and promptly departed with a pail.
Crackle! Crackle! Two brisk fires were now going in the burnt
clearing, started by Dick at Mr. Ross' direction. By this time
Mr. Ross' other helper had come in, reporting that the cattle
were quiet and grazing, and now this helper and his employer began
to remove the hide from one of the cows.
"This cow was overcome by smoke and hot air as soon as it rushed
into the blaze," explained Mr. Ross. "Therefore, this will be
safe meat to eat. When an animal, however, dies in pain, after
much suffering, its flesh should never be used for food. Bill,
now that we've gotten the hide off you mount and ride back to
the wagon. Bring it along."
Dan and Harry were still bringing in heavy firewood and stacking
it up, while the ring of axes in the hands of Dave and Tom was
heard. It was a busy scene.
"Prescott, you'd better begin piling on the big wood now," suggested
Mr. Ross, after noting the sun's position.
Things moved rapidly along.
"You might as well halt your wood cutters, unless you want their
product for your own camp," suggested the cattle owner, and Prescott
sent the word to stop chopping.
Within twenty minutes the big wagon, drawn by a pair of mules,
came up with Bill Hopple driving and his horse tied to the tailboard.
With a speed and skill born of long practice, Mr. Ross began to
cut up the carcass of the cow. Bill was busy making greenwood
spits and arranging them over the two fires, Dan and Harry helping
him.
Almost at a dead run came Greg Holmes through the woods, with
two quarts of blueberries. Over at the camp, as soon as he saw
the berries, Jim Hornby began mixing his pudding batter. He had
already prepared his fire and had found a suitable kettle.
From watching the pudding game, Tom strolled through to the two
fires in the clearing.
"This begins to look like a fine chance to eat," sighed Tom full
of contentment.
"Doing anything, Reade?" inquired the cattle owner, who had quickly
learned all their names.
"No, sir."
"Then suppose you take this heart of the cow over to your camp.
Put it on the fire in a kettle of salted water, and let it boil
slowly. By that means you will be able to serve up the heart
for your evening meal."
"Is there no end to this cow?" gasped Tom.
"Well, a good-sized cow provides several hundred pounds of meat,"
replied Mr. Ross. "Oh, what a shame that you boys have no ice,
and no way of getting it or keeping it! I could fix you for a
month's supply of meat!"
"Dick, do you remember what we came out here in the woods for?"
queried Tom.
"To camp, and have a good time," Prescott laughed. "And, so far,
we win. We're having a bully time!"
"What else did we come out here for?"
"To harden and train ourselves so that we can make a hard try
for the Gridley High School football eleven this fall."
"Will a week of training table undo the harm of to-day's big feasts?"
groaned Reade.
"No fellow is obliged to make a glutton of himself," retorted
Dick.
"Maybe not," quoth Tom, "but everyone of us will be sorely tempted.
You ought to see that pudding that Jim Hornby is putting up."
"Young man, are you going to get that heart to cooking before
it goes bad in the sun?" asked Mr. Ross sharply.
Tom meekly turned and started toward camp.
"What's Greg doing?" Dick called after him.
"Holmesy is watching, learning the way Jim Hornby puts up a boiled
pudding," Reade called back.
Honk! honk! sounded an automobile horn from the rough trail
of a roadway an eighth of a mile away. The honking continued
until Dick, realizing that it was a signal, gave a loud halloo.
"Is that Prescott's camp?" called a voice.
"It's the camp of Prescott and his friends," Dick shouted back.
"Get ready for visitors, then!" called the voice again, and this
time Dick recognized the voice as that of Dr. Bentley.
"We won't eat you out of supplies, though," called the doctor,
now heading through the forest. "We're bringing with us our own
cold lunch."
"Cold lunch!" Dick chuckled back. "You won't be able to eat it
after you see what we have!"
Through the trees now the fluttering of skirts could be seen.
High school girls were on their way to share the barbecue, though
as yet they did not know of the treat in store for them.