“Flour! flour! Oh, save it! My boot-heels! won’t I get a cussing when I tell ’em they can’t have any more biscuit? Everybody ’ll swear at me: Cook, I never saw such a clumsy bunch of darned carelessness; cook, the next time you want buffler-chips or fire-wood you can get ’em yourself; never ask me to pack water for you again, cook, for I won’t do it, you careless, wasteful old cook; then Cimarron Jack, or whatever you call him, ’ll sure desert, ’cause I couldn’t help myself when the Injuns wasted the flour—he, a feller that don’t get bread of any kind once a year. Oh, every hair of my head! I’m the cussing-post for the world to swear at—me, the camp-cook, a low, thankless dog.”
“I will see they are informed of the true state of affairs, now,” said Pedro, consolingly.
Duncan burst out, in high dudgeon:
“Think that ’ll do any good? think ’ee, think ’ee? Sir, I solemnly swear it!—if you put your hand on the Bible afore an alcalde, or whatever you call him, and swear—yes, sir, swear upon your oath, they’d still cuss me and say I’m the one to blame. Oh, curse the unlucky, miserable day I learned to cook!
“If any young man should come to me and ask me for advice,” he resumed, after a brief pause, “perhaps I couldn’t tell him what to do, but I could just naturally tell him what not to do. I’d say, young man, don’t let any fellow inveigle you into learning the pastry-cook’s trade—it ’ll be the ruin of you. Oh, look at my flour—going all the time.”
During the time in which he had been speaking, the moon had been steadily moving on its downward, westward course, making the wagon-shadows larger, perceptibly. Though but little longer, they were of sufficient length to form a black isthmus between the wagons and the most distant end of the hill. Duncan, on stopping, observed a change come o’er the face of the grand old strategist. From a cool, impassible calm it had changed to an expression of positive terror, which as quickly vanished, giving, in turn, place to a look of moderate anxiety.
Stepping to the torch, he extinguished it, gazing anxiously to the roof before so doing. Then in the darkness he whispered:
“Senor Wheeler, you will be of more use in guarding the door. Allow me to advise you to look well to it. Men, you two place yourselves by my side, in readiness to fire.”
They did so, and he continued:
“I saw, just now, the entire body of the Apaches scamper along that longest shadow to the right. They have discovered the hill is only a shell, and will endeavor to force their way into it before daybreak. There are now nine of them and they will at once go to work. There is nothing to be feared—the moon shines so brightly that we can see the slightest crevice they may make.”