I was in a bad fix; I remembered the parrot that got into trouble with the bull-terrier by talking too much.
"It requires a long time to steam dumplings; it will delay supper," I protested.
"We shan't turn you out, if it takes you all night, but we'll shoot the enamel off your front teeth if you don't make them apple dumplings, and do your best," said a cowboy.
"All right, boys, I'll try my luck, and you can save time by helping."
"Sure," all replied.
"Fetch me the shortening," I called.
"Right before your eyes," said one.
"Blamed if I can see it," I explained. The fellow put his hands on a cake of greasy-looking substance.
"That's soap," I said, remonstrating, with a chuckle.
"All we use for shortening," apologized the cook; "don't see much butter or lard out on this here desert."