"Chicken," replied Fletcher.
He peered into the kettle. Then he lit a match and peered again. He reached for a long iron spoon with which he fished up, one after another, several dumplings. Finally he swore softly.
"What's the matter, Ross?" inquired California John.
"You know what's the matter," retorted Ross shaking the spoon.
California John arose and looked down into the kettle.
"Thought you said you had chicken," he observed; "looks to me like dumplin' soup."
"I did have chicken," replied the man. "Oh, you Miles!—Bob!—come here. This old wreck has gone and stole all our chicken."
The boys popped in from the next room.
"I never," expostulated California John, his eyes twinkling. "I never stole nothin'. I just came in and found a poor old hen bogged down in a mess of dough, so I rescued her."
The other man said nothing for some time, but surveyed California John from head to toe and from toe to head again.