“That’s so,” he observed, “we ain’t got a sign of a frying-pan, have we?”
“But there must be a way of cooking ’em by keeping the birds close to the fire. All old hunters cook their game that way. And don’t you remember, Bumpus, Thad and Step Hen took sticks, and stuck ’em in the ground, with chunks of venison on the other end. Step said it was just prime. Well, what’s to hinder our trying that same old game?”
“But the partridges are too big and heavy; they won’t ever cook through?” objected the fat scout, doubtfully.
“All right; I guess now we can manage to slice the same in half,” Giraffe continued, hopefully. “I’ve done the job for my folks at home, more’n a few times, when they wanted to broil a Spring chicken for some sick person. We’ll have our game broiled, Bumpus, see?”
“Sure we will; and while you’re about it, with that big-bladed knife of yours, Giraffe, give mine a rip down the back, so I c’n split it open. It’s easy to see you know how. Thad and Allan ain’t got so very much on you, when it comes to doin’ things.”
By this artful flattery did Bumpus manage to get his bird divided. He spread it out carefully, and then started a hunt for the long sticks, by means of which the bird was to be held in a proper position before the hot fire.
After considerable waste of energy, they finally managed, after a fashion, to get the birds placed so that they received a fair portion of the heat that came out of the fire. Several times the sticks either broke, or else failed to hold properly, so that the game fell into the ashes, to be hastily rescued, and wiped off before again being put over the fire.
The minutes dragged, and to the hungry scouts it seemed as though the two partridges had tantalized them long enough. They gave forth an odor that was positively appetizing; and finally Giraffe just could not stand it another minute.
“Say, they must be done by now,” he remarked, eying his bird ravenously.
“They look pretty brown,” remarked Bumpus, “though that may come from the scorching they got each time they dipped in the red-hot ashes. But I feel just like you do, Giraffe; and if you say the word, it’s a go.”