He remarked that they had had some rain, to which Bud
agreed. He added gravely that he believed it was going to clear
up, though--unless the wind swung back into the storm quarter.
Bud again professed cheerfully to be in perfect accord. After
which conversational sparring they fell back upon the little
commonplaces of the moment.
Bud went into a brush patch and managed to glean an armful of
nearly dry wood, which he broke up with the axe and fed to the
fire, coaxing it into freer blazing. The stranger watched him
unobtrusively, critically, pottering about while Bud fried the
bacon.
"I guess you've handled a frying pan before, all right," he
remarked at last, when the bacon was fried without burning.
Bud grinned. "I saw one in a store window once as I was going
by," he parried facetiously. "That was quite a while back."
"Yeah. Well, how's your luck with bannock? I've got it all
mixed."
"Dump her in here, ole-timer," cried Bud, holding out the
frying pan emptied of all but grease. "Wish I had another hot
skillet to turn over the top."
"I guess you've been there, all right," the other chuckled.
"Well, I don't carry but the one frying pan. I'm equipped light,
because I've got to outfit with grub, further along.
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