"Tom, is there any danger of the beans sticking to the bottom of the camp-kettle and burning?"
"What do you take me for, young fellow?" he retorted indignantly. "Do you s'pose I've been a-cookin' an' eatin' Uncle Sam's beans all these years an' ain't learnt how to cook bean soup without burnin' it? Ef that soup scorches I'll agree to eat the whole mess."
"Of course you know how to cook 'em," I said apologetically, "but I noticed the beans are gettin' soft and thought maybe while you was busy at something else they might get burnt."
"Ain't you never learnt how to keep beans from stickin' to the bottom of the camp-kettle?"
"No, except to keep stirring them," I replied.
"Well, I didn't think you'd a-got through five years of soldierin' on the plains without learnin' how to keep beans from burning. Now, I'll tell you of a trick that's worth a dozen of stirrin' 'em when you've got somethin' else to do besides standin' by the kettle an' watchin' 'em. When your beans begin to git soft just drop two or three metal spoons into the camp-kettle, then go on about your business, an' long as they don't bile dry they won't burn. You savvy the philosophy of it?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, it's just this: the heat keeps the spoons a-dancin' around in the bottom of the kettle, an' that keeps the beans from settlin' an' burning. Savvy? Easy as rollin' off a log when it's explained to you, ain't it?"
After getting back to camp with the mules and broncos newly shod, we had just taken our seats around our mess-box table when who should ride up but Wild Bill. He had heard from Brown of our move and came out to see how we were fixed. As he reined up near us Jack saluted him with:
"Get down, Bill, an' hitch your hoss an' watch me eat."