He placed the skillet of venison on a flat rock at his elbow and poured coffee into two battered tin cups.

Breakfast was now ready, and Pete raised his voice in the traditional dinner call of the ranges: "Come and get it or I'll throw it out!" Stanley came back from a brisk toilet at Ironspring.

He took a preliminary sip of coffee, speared a juicy steak, and eyed his companion darkly.

Mr.Johnson plied knife and fork assiduously, with eyes downcast and demure.
Stanley Mitchell's smooth young face lined with suspicion.
"When you've been up to some deviltry I can always tell it on you--you look so incredibly meek and meechin', like a cat eatin' the canary," he remarked severely.

"Thank you for a biscuit.