In a little dip, almost a pit, a long-legged, long-bodied man sat before a rude oven built of stones evidently gathered from the surrounding slopes. Within the oven smoldered coals which gave out so little smoke that it was not discernible above the bushes. On the flat top of the oven strips of rabbit steak were broiling, and from them came the aroma which had been so potent a charm in the nostrils of the three.
The long-legged man sat in Turkish fashion, and his eyes were intent upon his oven and steaks. One hand rested in a rude sling, but the other held a stick with which he now and then poked up the coals. It was obvious that he was interested and absorbed as no other task in the world could interest and absorb him. The soul of an artist was poured into his work. He lingered over every detail, and saw that it was right.
"Now, ain't that old Long Jim through an' through?" whispered Shif'less Sol to Henry. "Did you ever see a feller love cookin' ez he does? It's his gift. He's done clean furgot all about Injuns, the fort, the fleet, us, an' everything except them thar rabbit steaks. Lemme call him back to the world, that good, old, ornery, long-legged, contrary Jim Hart, the best cook on this here roun' rollin' earth o' ours."
"Go ahead," said Henry.
Shif'less Sol raised his rifle and took a long, deliberate aim at Long Jim. Then he called out in a sharp voice:
"Give 'em up!"
Long Jim sprang to his feet in astonishment, and uttered the involuntary question:
"Give up what?"
"Them rabbit steaks," replied the shiftless one, emerging from the bushes, but still covering Long Jim with his rifle. "An' don't you be slow about it, either. What right hev you, Jim Hart, to tickle my nose with sech smells, an' then refuse to give to me the cause o' it? That would be cruelty to animals, it would."
"Sol Hyde! and Henry Ware! and Tom Ross!" exclaimed Long Jim joyfully. "So you hev come at last! But you're late."