CHAPTER VIII--Joe Gets a Chance at Last to Go Out on a Trip as Camp Cook

The next few days were busy ones for both boys. Tom had hikers to take care of now every day, sometimes only two or three at a time, sometimes much larger parties, so that he had to wheel down more cots from the chalets. There was much to do, cutting wood, hauling water, making beds, raking and burning the litter after each party, for Tom had learned as a scout that one of the worst things a camper can do is to leave any litter behind him, and one of the best ways to collect flies around a camp is to leave scraps and garbage unburned or unburied. He even went over to the hotel and begged a can of stove polish from the kitchen, and each day, after the crowd had gone, polished up the camp stove.

Big Bertha, coming down to look things over, found him busy at this job.

"Well, well," said he, in his funny, high voice, "I'd know you came from New England. Must have a clean kitchen! The camp looks well, Tom, and nobody's made a kick yet. I guess we can keep you another week."

Then he laughed in such a way that Tom knew his job was safe.

Meanwhile Joe divided his day between cooking the meals for Tom and himself, building a lean-to kitchen and dining-room for rainy weather, rigging up a porcupine-proof pantry with some old chicken wire he found behind the hotel chicken yards, and feeding and riding the Ranger's horse. Twice a day he took Popgun out for a spin, going down below the hotel to the level meadows where the packhorses and saddle-horses rented to the tourists were pastured at night, and there he galloped, trotted, and jumped logs till he felt sure of himself, and all his saddle soreness wore off. Sometimes, after the guests at the camp were gone, and no new party had yet arrived, Tom took a try in the saddle, too, and both of them, with packs made of their blankets and an old mattress, practiced throwing a diamond hitch, while Popgun, who was being used for the experiment, stood still, but looked around at them with a comical, grieved expression, as much as to say, "What do you think I am, just an old packhorse?"

The Ranger did not return for five days, and Joe was sorely tempted to ride Popgun up one of the trails again, to the high places which lured him--to Iceberg Lake, for instance, only six miles away, which everybody talked about as being so beautiful. But he remembered what the Ranger had said, and he never went more than a mile or two from camp. It was certainly hard, with a good horse under you, and a bright sky overhead, and the great towering red mountains all around, not to ride on and on, higher and higher, into those wonderful upland meadows, and then on some more to the sky-flung bridge of the Great Divide!

On the sixth morning, as Joe drew near the Ranger's cabin to feed and water Popgun, he saw smoke coming out of the chimney. The door was open, and inside he saw Mills just getting breakfast.

"Hello," he called.

"Oh, it's you," Mills answered, looking out. "Come make me some coffee, will you?"

Joe entered, and Mills shook hands. "Glad to see you," he said. "I'd be glad to see _anybody_, so don't get flattered. I've been five days alone in the woods, cuttin' out fallen trees from the trail. Last winter was a bad one."

"I s'pose there's a lot of snow here in winter," said Joe, as he set about making the coffee.

"Last winter there was ten feet on the level in the woods, and the drift piled up against Many Glacier Hotel out there till all you could see was the peak of the roof."

"What!" Joe cried. "Why, that's five stories high!"

"So was the drift," said Mills

"What a chance for skiing!" Joe sighed. "Say, I'd like to spend a winter here."

"Don't let's talk about it," Mills suddenly said. "Makes me blue. The winters are too darn lonely. I see Popgun looks fat, and you've been groomin' him, too. Where'd you get the curry comb? _I_ don't own one."

"Made it," Joe answered, "by punching holes with a nail through a tin box cover."

"Can you ride yet?"

"Well, I can get around, without having to eat off the mantelpiece at night."

"Want a job?"

"Sure, if it's something I can do. You know, I'm a regular grafter now, just living off Spider. What is it?"

"Cooking mostly. Tastes to me as if you could do that," the Ranger said, as he took a sip of Joe's coffee, and a bite of the fried eggs and bacon Joe had also cooked for him, as they talked.

"I can cook all right--I learned that in the Boy Scouts," Joe answered, eagerly. "Is it for a party?"

"Yes, it's a special party--a couple o' congressmen and their wives and families. The Park superintendent wants me to show 'em around the circuit a bit--have to be nice to congressmen, because Congress appropriates what little money we get to build trails with. All the camp cooks are out on trips now, and I'm up against it unless you'll go along."

"I'm your man!" Joe cried, eagerly.

"Well, you're as good as a man when it comes to coffee," Mills grinned. "I'll get a guide to help out with the packing and the heavy work. We start to-morrow morning, early. Be up here at seven."

"O.K.," cried Joe, with a salute, and hurried back to tell Tom the news.

Spider looked grave. "I dunno about it," said he. "You know what the doc said about overworking. I dunno whether I'll let you go."

"But it won't be overworking," Joe cried. "Gee, I feel great now, anyhow, and it's just cooking, and the Ranger's going to get a guide to do the heavy packing, and I'll be on horseback all the time, and out in the air, and, gosh, but it's a great chance to see the Park, and earn some money to pay you back----"

"Oh, forget that!" said Tom. "What's your pay going to be?"

"Don't know--didn't stop to ask," Joe laughed.

"You're a great little business man, you are," Tom said. "Well, you can try it this trip, if you'll come over now to the hotel and get weighed, and have your temperature taken."

The hikers had gone for the day, and the camp was vacant, so the two scouts went around to the hotel at once, and Joe climbed on the scales. Tom set them at a hundred and thirty, but the weight did not drop. He moved the indicator weight pound by pound till he reached a hundred and thirty-nine, before he reached a balance.

"Gosh," cried Joe, "that's almost ten pounds I've put on since I left little old Southmead!"

"Yes, and you haven't coughed for a week," Tom added. "You're on the mend, all right, all right. But you got to stay so, and I dunno about letting you go on this trip--it'll be hard work cooking for a whole lot o' people."

"Aw, please!" Joe pleaded. "I feel great now, honest I do. Besides, it's all out in the open air."

"Well, you can try it this once," Tom finally said. "But if you have any fever, or have lost any weight, or are fagged, when you get back, or have any signs of a cold, or cough, no more trips for you!"

"Yes, doctor," Joe answered, meekly.

They went back to the camp, and Joe spent the afternoon studying the government topographical survey map of the Park he had bought at the hotel, overhauling his personal equipment, and then, at the supply depot of the Glacier Park Saddle Company, which furnishes the horses, tents, guides, blankets, etc., for camping and horseback parties in the Park, selecting what he wanted in the way of cooking utensils and provisions for his party.

Mills said they would be out five days, and there were to be two men, two women, two girls and a boy in the party, besides Mills, Joe and two guides, for Mills had decided they'd need two. That made eleven people in all, or a hundred and sixty-five individual meals. Joe began to think, when he came to figure it out, that it was more of a job than it looked at first, especially when all the stuff had to be packed on horseback. He planned for canned soups, for coffee, tea and cocoa, served with condensed milk, of course; for plenty of bacon; for two or three meals of eggs, packed in a small crate; for two meals of beef (which, of course, would not keep, and would have to be served the first two days out); for pancakes and "saddle blankets" (a kind of pan-fried cake served with syrup, the syrup coming in cans); for bread, of course, if he had time to make any; and, finally, beans, sardines, crackers, some canned vegetables, and jam, marmalade and canned peaches. All these things could be carried easily, as they came in tins or jars. All that was needed were the horses. He got everything ready to be packed in the morning, and hurried back to camp to get Tom's supper. Tom was busy with a big crowd of hikers, who had just arrived over Piegan Pass, and it was late before the two boys sat down to their meal.

"I sort of hate to go now," Joe said. "I'll be seeing all the Park, and you having to stick around here and make beds for the hikers. When I get back, I'm going to ask Big Bertha to let me run the camp, while you have a trip."

"_Yes_ you are!" Spider laughed. "You're going to rest a whole week after you get back. You look tired already. Guess I won't let you go, after all."

"I'd like to see you stop me!" Joe answered, as he took a third helping of pancakes.

"Well, you eat like a well man, I must admit," said Spider, reaching for what was left.