Once, owing to transportation difficulties,
the rations were short for days, and the men were in rebellious
spirit in consequence. Twice whiskey had been smuggled in, to the
utter demoralization of the camp; and one morning, as a last straw,
"Cookee" had nearly severed his left hand from his arm with a meat
axe. Young Wingate, the head engineer, and Mr. Brown, the foreman,
took counsel together. For the three meals of that day they tried
three different men out of the gang as "cookees." No one could eat
the atrocious food they manufactured. Then Brown bethought himself.
"There's an Indian woman living up the canyon that can cook like
a French chef," he announced, after a day of unspeakable gnawing
beneath his belt. "How about getting her? I've tasted pork and
beans at her shack, and flapjacks, and--"
"Get her! get her!" clamored Wingate. "Even if she poisons us, it's
better than starving. I'll ride over to-night and offer her big
wages."
"How about her staying here?" asked Brown. "The boys are pretty
rough and lawless at times, you know."
"Get the axe men to build her a good, roomy shack--the best logs in
the place. We'll give her a lock and key for it, and you, Brown,
report the very first incivility to her that you hear of," said
Wingate crisply.
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