Soon a delightful aroma began to steal through the air in the immediate
vicinity of the little camp near the foot of the towering, mysterious
mountain; as some bacon sizzled in the pan, and the crushed berry from
Java boiled and bubbled most cheerily.
Besides, upon some splinters of wood Frank had thrust small pieces of
venison, the last fresh meat they had brought from the ranch. As the
heat from the red coals began to turn these to a crisp brown, Bob
sniffed the added fragrance in the air after the manner of a hungry
range-rider, or a boy with a healthy appetite.
"Seems to be plenty of game around here," he remarked. "I jumped two
rabbits near the spring, and they went up the rise, as usual."
"Yes," remarked the cook, "the place looks good for game, and you'd
wonder why those Injuns passed it by, only I happen to know. Ten to
one there's a deer in that thicket of wild plum over there. And you
can just believe an old grizzly wouldn't want a better hang-out than up
yonder among the cliffs and crags of the mountain side."
"But to return to our mutton, which after all is antelope meat, when do
we start operations? I'm nearly wild, with all these smells, and never
a bite. The water just drips from my tongue, I give you my word,
Frank."
For answer the other picked up the coffee pot, and set it aside for a
minute, to let the contents settle.
"Grub's ready, Bob," he said, laughingly; "and I reckon we'll not
bother banging on the frying pan with a big spoon to-night, range
fashion.
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