He had several gallon's of coffee and plenty of bacon
and canned fruit, and a peculiar kind of bread which he had baked
himself.
[Illustration: 'Gene Starts a Cook-Book]
"I'm a-thinking," he said, "there ain't enough sal'ratus in
that there bread; but I'm a poor cook, anyhow."
The bread seemed to us to be already composed chiefly of
saleratus, so his apology struck us as unnecessary. He very
kindly wrote out the receipt on a shingle for Jack, but I stole
it away from him after we got home and burned it in the
camp-fire; so we escaped that.
"Your pancakes are bad enough," I said to him. "We don't care
to try your saleratus bread."
Jack was a good deal worked up about the loss of his receipt,
and experimented a long time to produce something like the
freighter's bread without it; but as Snoozer wouldn't try the
stuff he made, and he was afraid to do so himself, nothing came
of it.
We enjoyed our dinner with the man, however, and Jack added
further to his vocabulary in finding that the drivers of the ox
teams were called "bullwhackers," and those of the mules and
horses "muleskinners.
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