Sundry others were
clinging to the surface of the warm, fleecy blankets in which he was
wrapped, and his feet were thrust into a pair of moccasins. He had the
appearance and voice of a person awaking from sound sleep.
"I say, you fellows, it's about time you got back!" he said, rubbing his
heavy eyes, and addressing the hunters. "I hope you've had some luck. I
dreamt that I was smacking my lips over a venison steak."
"Smack 'em w'en you git it, honey!" remarked Uncle Eb, while he mixed a
plain batter of flour, baking-powder, and cold water, which he dropped
in big spoonfuls on a frying-pan, previously greased, proceeding to fry
the mixture over his camp-fire.
The thin, round cakes which presently appeared were the "flapjacks"
despised by Cyrus as insufficient diet.
Without waiting to answer the new boy's greeting, the hunters had
disappeared into the bark shanty. When next they issued forth they were
rigged up Indian fashion in moccasins and blankets, the latter being
doubled and draped over their underclothing,--of which luckily they had
a dry supply,--and gathered round their waists with leather straps.
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