"Do not grieve or have fears for the larder, Sir Philip of the Hungry Countenance. There is an abundance of food in the wagons, and we also shall soon be in a good game country. Unless my eye and hand have lost their cunning, a fat deer shall speedily be roasting over the coals."
The four kept close together, and they usually gathered around the fire at which Thomas Woodfall, the leader, sat. Woodfall had shown a decided respect and liking for Middleton, and, following the custom which Breakstone had established, always addressed him as Cap, short for Captain. Phil and Breakstone had been particularly active gathering wood that evening, and it had been Phil's task and pleasure, when it was all put in a heap, to light it. Now he was watching the little flames grow into big ones, and the yellow light turn to blazing red. He listened, also, as the flames hissed a little before the wind, and the dry boughs snapped and crackled under the fiery torch. Middleton regarded him with kindly approval.
"A good boy," he said to Woodfall. "A lad with fine instincts and a brave spirit."
"And a mighty handy one, too," said Woodfall. "I've noticed how he works. He's as big and strong as a man, and I never saw anybody else who was just prized down like a hogshead of tobacco, crowded full of zeal."
"I think it likely he will need it all before our journey is over," said Middleton.
"It's probable," repeated Woodfall, "but I'll ask you, Cap, not to speak it. It may be that this expedition was begun at the wrong time. I had heard, and the owners had heard, that the troubles with Mexico were quieting down, but it seems that, instead of doing so, they are getting livelier."
"I shall certainly say nothing about it to our people here," replied Middleton. "Cheerful hearts are the best, and we may have trouble with neither Mexicans nor Indians."
Phil himself was not thinking at that moment of either yellow or red foes. His fire had grown into a mighty pyramid, and, as the dead wood burned fast, it soon sank down into a great mass of glowing coals. Then he, Breakstone, and Arenberg boiled coffee in big iron pots, and cooked bread and many slices of bacon. The night was cool and nipping, but the coals threw out an abundance of heat. A delicious aroma arose and spread far. Everybody came forward with tin cup and tin plate, and helped himself. Phil took his filled plate in one hand, his filled cup in the other, and sat down on a fallen log with Breakstone and Arenberg.
"In my time, and as an ornament to the stage," said Bill Breakstone, "I have eaten some bountiful repasts. I have feasted as a prince, a duke, or some other lordling. I have been the wrestler in the Forest of Arden with Rosalind and Celia. I have had my head deep in the mug of sack, as Sir John Falstaff, but most of those magnificent repasts depended largely upon the imagination. Here I am neither prince nor duke, but the food is real, and the air is so good that one might even bite a chip with a certain pleasure. Excuse me, Sir Philip of the Forest, while I even drain the coffee-cup."
He took it all down at one draught, and a beatific glow overspread his face. Arenberg regarded him with admiration.