“Now, Frank,” Jimmie observed as the two boys placed their still steaming steaks on paper plates set out on a table made of slender mountain poles, “you take a bucket and go after coffee and I’ll bring out the bread and butter and beans. We ought to have French fried potatoes with these steaks, but I guess we can get along with this feed for a few hours. Tell Jack to come on in and eat.”
Frank Shaw took a tin pail from a shelf at one side of the cave and started away toward the campfire, while Jimmie made his way to a corner of the cave which was shut off from the main room by a heavy canvas curtain. Taking a small electric flashlight from a pocket, he drew the curtain aside and turned a finger of flame upon a row of shelves arranged on the face of the rock. This was known as the “refrigerator.”
Jimmie whistled as he looked over the shelves and reached out a hand, almost automatically, for the things he needed for the table. Then his puckered lips opened in wonder and he glanced sharply about the cavern.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “Now I wonder what they did that for!”
“Did what?” demanded Frank Shaw, returning with the pail of fragrant coffee. “Who did what?” repeated the newcomer.
“I believe you did it!” insisted Jimmie with a grin.
“Anything wrong with your gearing this morning?” asked Frank.
“Well,” Jimmie went on, “some of you boys went and took the last three loaves of bread we had in the refrigerator, and all the butter there was in sight, and all that was left of the roast haunch we had such trouble with yesterday. I’ll bet you did it!”
“Aw, you did it yourself!” exclaimed Frank. “I heard you moving around in the night, and wondered then what it was you were eating.”
“Up in the night?” repeated Jimmie. “Not me!”