Helen sighed. “I think that’s the best food I’ve ever tasted. Donald, why didn’t you think of this sooner?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m dumb,” I said.
The afterglow faded from the west. Blazing stars came out to hang in the sky overhead.
Helen said, “I’ll do the dishes.”
Louie was insulted. “What does a nice girl like you know about doin’ dishes? Not camp style, anyway. Look, sister, out here in the desert we don’t have much water, see? I’ll show you how it’s done.”
He took the dishes out to a place about fifteen yards in front of the car, turned on the headlights, squatted on his heels, and scooped up sand. He piled sand in the plates and started rubbing. By the time he’d finished, the sand had soaked up everything that had been left on the plates and scoured them clean. Louie poured boiling water over the dishes, just a few spoonfuls to each dish. The water cleaned off what was left of the sand, and left the dishes bright and clean.
“There you are,” Louie announced proudly, “a lot cleaner than you coulda got ’em with a whole dishpan full of water. Now we’ll stack ’em up on the running-board and be all ready for breakfast. What time you want to roll out?”
“I’ll let you know,” I told him.
Louie said, “I thought I’d pull my blankets over here and—”
“This is all right,” Helen said. “I’ve got the three beds made, side by side.”