"Where are the Boiling Springs?" asked Terry. "Do they boil?"
"Haven't you heard o' them yet? They're down at the foot o' Pike's—tremenjous good water, sody an' iron both an' a lot o' other minerals, I reckon; bubblin' an' poppin', an' liable to cure anything. Sacred to the Injun, they were, but they're powerful good for white man."
Jenny, her pack removed, took a hearty roll, and a shake, and a long cold drink, and fell to browsing. Terry built a fire and prepared camp; Harry got out their own fry-pan and the coffee pot, and while the water in the pot was coming to a boil he proceeded to mix batter.
"What'll it be?" queried Terry, hungry.
"Flap-jacks."
"I didn't know you could make them."
"I didn't, either, to date. But I can."
The first flap-jack stuck confoundingly, and would not turn at all except by pieces. So it burned, and they gave it to Shep. The next sailed free and high, and landed, dough side down, in Terry's lap. Terry started to laugh, but changed his tune and frantically tore the hot dough loose, then executed a war-dance while he sucked his fingers.
"Too much flap," commented Harry. "Once again."
This flap-jack flew straight for his face and he ducked only just in time to prevent being plastered.