Andy laughed outright. “Strike me fair, John, you’ve got anythin’ I ever see beat a block for slingin’ grub.”
John was pleased. “Oh, I’m fair to middlin’ good,” he admitted.
John served the dinner in the pots and pans in which the food had been cooked, and piled the table with enough to serve a dozen men. “Like to see lots of grub in sight,” smiled the old trapper. He placed a big steaming coffeepot in the centre of the table, and then sent out his original dinner-call. “Throw your feet under the mahogany!” he roared.
The party needed no second call. The mountain air had given them wolfish appetites and they made huge inroads on the trapper’s well-cooked dinner. With the exception of Andy, they ate and enjoyed the musquash; the meat being fine-grained and tender. John was visibly disappointed by Andy’s refusal to try this delicacy.
“Try it, ol’ timer,” he insisted, as he pushed the steaming pan across the table.
Andy made a wry face. “Don’t feel jest hungry to-night,” he mumbled.
Dinner finished, Donald pushed back his chair and lighted a cigarette. “John, that was a dandy meal, and your coffee sure is a nectar fit for the gods.”
The trapper was justly proud of his cooking. Donald’s praise brought a deeper tinge of colour to his bronzed face. He refilled the tin cups and they sat quietly smoking and sipping the fragrant coffee.
After the day in the open and the excellent meal it was pleasant to sit in the genial warmth of the cabin while the storm which had been gathering broke overhead and the incessant patter of rain sounded on the roof.
Between Andy and John there sprang up a comradeship based on the peculiar brotherhood which often exists between small men. Each found in the other traits that amused him.