“Where shall we get our meals?” Scott asked.
“I have a camp frying pan and a teakettle, and we can buy what grub we need at the stores we pass. Maybe we shall have some game, too, Ormand is a dandy with that little Stevens pistol, and may catch something sitting around loose. Tomorrow we’ll get everything ready and the next day we’ll start good and early.”
Scott’s homesickness vanished with the fancied smoke of the promised campfires. He had never really camped and the prospect of a Thanksgiving dinner in camp was very attractive. He hurried out to borrow a pack sack from Manning, and eagerly put in all his spare time the next day in minor preparations. He was tremendously excited, but did not know exactly what to do. Greenleaf was no less excited over his unexpected holiday, but went about the preparations of his kit with the thoroughness of an old prospector. Ormand and Morgan came in the evening to discuss the final plans and hold a consultation over the equipment. They had left the purchasing of the supplies to Greenleaf. Ormand lounged on the bed and Morgan lay comfortably back in the easy chair, while Greenleaf, pencil in hand, read over the list of supplies. Scott felt his helplessness on such an occasion, and sat quietly back in a corner to listen.
“I’ve figured out the supplies for the whole trip,” Greenleaf began, “but I thought we could get just half of it now and stock again at Red Wing.”
“Sure,” Morgan assented. “No use in our carrying any more than we have to. Some of it we might as well get all at once, but we can restock on the heavy stuff.”
“Let’s hear the list,” Ormand grunted from the bed.
“Twelve pounds of flour,” Greenleaf started.
“Cut it out,” came in a chorus from the others.
“We’re not running a logging camp in the backwoods,” Morgan objected. “We can carry bread and save piles of trouble.”
“Well, if you’re really going to camp,” Greenleaf contended, “you ought to cook everything you need.”