I fell to with a will. Before long my dough was mixed. As I rolled it out with a tin can, I directed a cowboy to put in the apples and roll up the dough. Soon the dumplings were in the steamer, and the cook began to prepare other eatables for the meal. Then, my duty done, I watched two fellows throw the lariat, and shoot the fly specks off Coonskin's hat in midair.
At last, five hearty eaters sat down to dinner. The cook's hot biscuits, potatoes, bacon, eggs and coffee were delicious, and I devoured them greedily. But in the middle of our repast I turned my head in time to detect the cook meddling with the dumplings.
"Shouldn't take off the cover till they're done," I shouted; "makes 'em heavy."
"Didn't take it off—lifted itself off," explained the man, regarding me first, then the steamer. "Man alive, the dumplings are as big as cabbages."
"And 'tain't more'n likely they've got their growth yet," said Coonskin, who examined the wonders.
"Gracious!" I exclaimed. "How many apples did you cram into each dumpling?"
"Only fifteen or twenty," the cook returned; "awfully small, you know."
"That explains the size of them," said I. "You've got a half dozen whole apples in each dumpling, and a peck or more in the steamer. Don't you know dried fruit swells?"
"But how am I to keep the lid on the steamer," asked the hungry cook, wistfully eying the disappearing meal.
"Sit on it, you crazy loon," suggested a companion.