"Seems as though we have neighbors, Pete," he remarked.
"It was bound to be," Pete said. "This is some of the best land in Oklahoma, and we Boomers have known of it for a long while. Bet most of the people around us are Boomers."
"What do we do now?" Jed asked.
Pete, still grinning, yawned. "Let's make camp."
They went back to the oak grove. Jed broke brittle branches from a tree that had fallen and died, and Pete built a fire. He opened the sack of food, cut strips of bacon, and inserted a stick of green wood into the hollow handle of a frying pan. The wood lengthened the handle, so that Pete was able to hold the frying pan over the fire without burning his hand. He cooked the bacon, and when it was done he laid all the slices at one side of the frying pan and scooped a generous portion of already-cooked beans in beside them. Mr. Simpson brought three slabs of clean bark, and Pete divided the food into three equal portions.
They were hungry, for they had worked hard, and since there were no spoons or forks they had to eat with their fingers. It was, Cindy thought, a delightful way to dine, and she had never known that bacon, warmed-over beans, and stale biscuits could taste so good. After she'd eaten her portion she was still hungry, but she purposely avoided looking at the nearly empty sack. The food had been intended for one person, not three, and there was just enough left for a skimpy breakfast.
"I'm full," said Mr. Simpson, throwing his slab of bark into the fire.
"I am, too," Pete said. "How about, you, Cindy?"
"Um-um-yummy." Cindy did not want to tell a lie.
The grazing horses raised their heads and stared hard toward something which only they knew was coming. Pete and Jed got to their feet, and their hands hovered very near their holstered guns. A moment later two horsemen appeared on top of a hillock and started toward them. Pete grinned reassuringly. "It's all right. I know them. They're Cal and Sim Macklin."