“We don’t want any, do we?” asked his assistant, in some surprise. “I always thought when folks that were campin’ out cooked anything they stuck it on a stick in front of the fire, an’ let it sizzle.”
“We can do it so now!” he exclaimed; and, since this suggestion had been made, roasting chickens did not appear to be any very hard matter after all.
He piled the wood on until he had a fire large enough to roast a pig, cut a long, sharp stick on which to spit the hen, and had hardly completed these preparations when Bill Thompson reappeared with the now featherless victim of Tip’s bloodthirsty nature.
Bill’s work might have been done more neatly; but what did a few feathers amount to when a dozen hungry boys were waiting to be fed? Tim was not quite sure whether he had better cut off the head and legs, or not; but, as they did not seem to be in the way, he concluded they might as well be cooked. Neither did he think any cleaning necessary, but plunged the stick through her, and stuck one end in the ground in front of the fire with all the grace of an experienced cook.
The remainder of the party watched this work with hungry eagerness; and when Tim filled the kettle with potatoes they settled themselves down contentedly to wait for the “bang-up” dinner for which they were in a measure indebted to Tip.
The water in the pot bubbled and boiled merrily; the murdered hen began to steam and sizzle, till every boy’s mouth watered with anticipation; while Tim and Bobby bustled around in an important manner, feeling that they were looked up to as the head men of the party, and enjoying the distinction immensely.
They piled on the wood, stirred the potatoes, as if that was the important part of cooking that vegetable, while every few moments Tim would smell of the hen, nearly singeing the hair from his head each time. They were certainly good cooks, if keeping up a big fire could make them so.
The hen did not appear to be revengeful at having been so suddenly deprived of life, for in a short time her rather lean body began to turn brown, and a most delicious odor arose on the air, even if she was thickly incrusted with ashes.
As Tim turned her carefully he thought with surprise that he was a really good cook, and blamed himself for having been so distrustful of his own ability.