Bright tin cups, plates, knives, forks and spoons were handed around and the "folks" instructed to "get your places near the grub pile." A bucket of cold brook water stood handy by. Jack opened a can of peas, which were soon sizzling in a double bottomed stewpan. A round wooden box was marked "Oleo"—but no one, except Jack, knew it to be otherwise than "best Elgin butter."
Into another frying pan Jack put some of the butter, and when it was good and hot added half a dozen brook trout that also had escaped the notice of the now hungry onlookers. The scent of savory viands nearly precipitated a riot.
"Supper!" called Jack.
"Why, you don't know whether those biscuits are burned to death or raw," said Hazel. "Look at him settle that coffee with cold water. Where's an egg?"
Jack lifted the cover off the oven and a cloud of steam rose up and wafted away, then he set the skillet in the center of the party, the fish beside the bread and the bacon near at hand; peas came along and Hazel picked up a lightly browned, rich, creamy biscuit, breaking it in two and adding a dab of butter, took a bite, smacked her lips and said "More." The verdict was unanimous.
The routine of camp life is not a dull one; new and varied episodes follow each other in rapid order while on the trail. The informal mannerisms of camp life become contagious and an irresistible impulse takes possession of the most conservative to break away from conventionalities. Bantering persiflage bubbles in everyone, and good natured raillery adds zest to all phases of the experience, whether it rains or shines.
No sooner had Jack straightened up his kitchen than he inspected the disposition of the horses, seeing that each one had as good a spot to crop grass as was obtainable. Then the beds. "Put some more of those second growth pine boughs under that bunch of blankets and it will be more like a good curled hair mattress, to which I presume Miss Asquith is accustomed; dig a trench all around each tent; it may rain before morning and this side hill will be a running river if it does; spread that wagon sheet over the saddles and 'commissary' before you turn in; we will want to start about eight o'clock; you may sleep until six." Thus he gave his instructions to the hustlers.
After a little chat, as they sat on the ground, Turk-fashion, or lolled against a tree, first one yawned and of course the others followed suit, so Jack suggested "early to bed."
Breakfast over, saddles were cinched, camp equipment all snugly packed away and the laborious climb was commenced which was to take them to the slide rock trail five miles long, following the crest of the great continental divide which separates the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific.
The men walked behind their respective ponies, lessening their labor by hanging to the ponies' tails, while the fair sex suffered almost as much hardship listening to the panting, patient animals, as they stopped every hundred feet to get a breath and "blow."