“There ain’t any need of doin’ that,” snorted Roy. “I tell you there ain’t any good in those things and it’s against all the rules anyhow. You’ll get all the fat you want when our bannock’s done.”
“Well, then, why don’t you start it?” asked Paul. “I suppose it’ll take it an hour to cook. And your fat’s getting cold anyway.”
“That’s where you show your ignorance,” retorted Roy. “I suppose you fellows think I don’t know my business. If I’d put that bannock right into this hot fat it would have fried like a doughnut. I’ve got to get this grease soaked up in my bread. That’s why I’m lettin’ the grease get cool.”
With this he took the flat looking loaf from the Indian’s hands and slipped it into the already nearly full frying pan. But Roy knew his limitations. As he lifted the pan back upon the coals and the grease began to sizzle and snap he knew that he had exhausted his culinary knowledge.
“Here,” he said to the Indian, “you can watch this while it cooks.”
With a smile the Indian took the handle of the pan, shook it deftly a few times, lifted the edge of the dough with skilled fingers and then settled the pan upon a bed of coals just outside the heart of the fire and, squatted by its side, carefully watched the baking. Meanwhile, Norman and Paul were crunching bacon scraps while Roy was mopping his perspiring brow with the sleeve of his sweater.
“If that’s all we’re going to have,” broke in Norman, “I want to go home.”
But that was all they did have. The conscientious Roy, who had given the subject much consideration, had carefully refrained from bringing any luxuries other than tea and a little sugar. But by the time the bannock was done—and the Indian knew how to cook it—the three boys had become so hungry that the Indian bread was eaten ravenously. Then the party crept into their sleeping bags at an early hour and passed the night without discomfort.
Philip took charge of the camp in the morning and before the boys crept out of their bags he served each of them with a cup of hot tea. When the boys looked outside of their snow tent it seemed hardly dawn and yet it was after eight o’clock. Philip shook his head and announced prospects of bad weather. There was no sun and, although it was no colder than it had been the day before, there was a gloom over all that suggested a storm.
Not one of the boys would have suggested it but the Indian did not hesitate to warn them that they should return to the camp at once.