To neglect his duty toward a bunch of hungry cowpunchers was what On Ching, the cook, had he been sober, would have carefully avoided. Experience had long since taught him this. Unfortunately the Chink was not sober and therefore failed to...See moreTo neglect his duty toward a bunch of hungry cowpunchers was what On Ching, the cook, had he been sober, would have carefully avoided. Experience had long since taught him this. Unfortunately the Chink was not sober and therefore failed to notice a large hole in the bag of salt which was emitting a steady stream into the soup. The boys were pounding loudly on the table. On Ching quickly filled the dishes and trotted in, but scarcely had he gotten back to the cook-house than the boys, who had taken one taste of the soup and risen in a body, were upon him. Forcing the remainder of the soup down the Chink's throat and throwing the dough he had been kneading over his head, they kicked him out, bag and baggage. Then, after the excitement was all over, sat in gloomy silence. It was thus that the boss, James Bedlow, and his daughter found them. Where could he get another cook on such short notice? Suddenly a happy thought seized Florence; she had been to cooking school and here was an opportunity to display her ability. Snatching up a large cook-book, she disappeared in the direction of the cook-house amid the jubilant shouts of the boys. An hour passed, still no dinner, then, as despair was settling upon them, the door opened and Florence, hot, but happy, appeared. Her heavily loaded tray looked very tempting, from a distance, and there was still more to come. As she returned with the third tray, however, she found the room empty, and tears of anger and mortification rose to her eyes. Had the boys peeped into the cook-house and seen the poor child's many troubles during that strenuous hour, the dog running away with the roast, the cats in the cream, and noted that her hands and dress were burned in many places, they surely would have choked down the sodaless biscuits and raw potatoes, likewise the steak, even though it was burned to a crisp. But being ignorant of all this, the boys lost no time in making good their escape and were mounting to ride to the only restaurant in town when two tramps hove into sight. This chance to dispose to dispose of Florence's cooking was promptly and eagerly seized upon, after which the hungry men galloped away. At the saloon and restaurant all might have gone well had not Big Bill gotten into an argument with the bartender, then, all supplies were refused. But the boys were not to be again outdone. Quickly they whipped out their guns, packed up what food and drink they had desired, tossed the money on the bar and backed out. The cowpunchers were preparing to enjoy their feast in the bunk-house when Florence appeared to announce Parson Conn and his good lady. Hastily they stowed their supplies in the wood box and lowered it out of the window, and although the old parson only remained long enough to offer up a prayer, sing a couple of hymns and take up a collection, it seemed an eternity before the boys were once more in possession of their precious wood-box. As the cowpunchers removed its cover, they fell back prostrated at their hard luck. Florence's burned steak, raw potatoes and stone-like biscuits met their eyes, for in coming back to return these delicacies, the tramps had espied the box and carefully substituted the one for the other. At that very moment they were sitting under a tree with the Chink, whom they had met on the way, cheerfully disposing of roast chicken, pie and choice whiskey. Written by
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