The Texan returned and placed the coffee-pot close
against the tiny blaze.
"When you get through invoicin' yer trooso, Winthrup, it wouldn't delay
us none if you'd grasp that there hand-ax an' carve out a little
fire-fodder." He glanced up at Alice. "An' if cookin' of any kind has
be'n inclooded in your repretwa of accomplishments, you might sizzle up
a hunk of that sow-belly, an' keep yer eye on this here pot. An' if
Winthrup should happen to recover from his locomotive attacksyou an'
hack off a limb or two, you can get a little bigger blaze a-goin' an',
just before that water starts to burn, slop in a fistful of java.
You'll find some dough-gods an' salve in one of them canvas bags, an'
when you're all set, holler. I'll throw the kaks on these cayuses, an'
Bat, he can wrastle with the pack."
Alice looked into the Texan's face with a peculiar little puckering of
the brows, and laughed: "See here, Mr. Tex," she said, "of course, I
know that java must be coffee, but if you will kindly render the rest
of your remarks a little less caliginous by calling the grub by its
Christian name, maybe I'll get along better with the breakfast."
The Texan was laughing now, a wholesome, hearty laugh in which was no
trace of cynicism, and the girl felt that for the first time she had
caught a glimpse of the real man, the boyish, whole-hearted man that
once or twice before she had suspected existed behind the mask of the
sardonic smile.
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