The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1935-06-21

late World war, the company cook was
seldom a professional, but selected to
serve in that capacity because he had
occasionally baked flapjacks at home
on the ranch.
Most western men. We are told, can
fry bacon and make fairly good baking
powder biscuits; but Paul Berger, as we
will call him, although it was not his
name, could do more than that, as all
can testify who were fortunate enough
to taste his sour dough bread. White,
and a marvel of lightness, it was never
a failure. whether baked in a frying
pan before an outdoor fire; or a broken
down camp stove, or a Dutch oven.
Paul had the bread-making knack that
any housewife might envy, and his
Montana experience in patching" had
taught him other branches of plain
cooking. Added to this his Pennsylvania
Dutch training led him to be heater
than the average frontiersman. 1t was
inevitable, with all these accomplish
ments, that he should be chosen as cook
for the surveying party.
The work was not hard-Paul's main
objection to it was that it kept him
within doors. Then, too, he was often
lonesome. His morning work done, the
long hours until it wa time to cook
supper were painfully monotonous.
One morning, after the surveyors had
finished breakfast, and taking with
them a lunch that would insure their
absence for the day, set out for a
distant point, Paul mechanically fol-
1nunG hic yIc,,o1 rO,tfion To p1oo roSJ
the table improvised Of rough boards
laid ON sawhorses; but he didn't shake
the table cloth, there being none. Then
came the dishwashing; setting the
bread to rise; putting the soaked dried
apples on the stove to cook; and the
| sweeping of the cabin floor. This would
complete his activities until the bread
had to be made out.
With a last flourish of the broom
he swept the dust out of doors, where a
Great Falls zephyr caught it and bore it
away. Still holding the broom he look
ed abroad at the too familiar scene
before him. The day was charming
there was nothing wrong with the day,
but Paul had seen many like it. He
couldn't get out and enjoy it, like those
others owe there he could barely dis
Germ near the Black Eagle falls, and
knew to be his party.
Before him stretched, to where the
river sparkled in the sunlight, a grassy
plain fringed with trees; and if he
turned to the east there could be seen
the jagged outlines of the Highwoods;
and he knew that a glance toward the
west would reveal the Sun river valley
to the point where it merged in the
main chain of the Rockies. He was
tired of it all. He craved companion
ship, not scenery. "Well," he thought,
there's no more cooking to do after
the bread is out of the oven. Blamed
if + don't believe I'd be willing to get
up a meal, if only some n would drop
iii to help me eat it,"
Just then he heard a slight SOUND
that made him turn quickly in the
direction from which it came. and he
was startled at seeing a half dozen
mounted Blackfeet approaching, the
unshod hoofs of their ponies making
scarcely any noise. Riding up to the
door they dismounted; and without the
usual friendly How" given with ex-
tended hand, they haughtily brushed
by Paul, and entered the cabin.
It being warm weather, these unwel-
coined guests of his wore nothing bu.
the &c string" Their faces were hid
eously painted. and their long plated
locks adorned with bits of fur. Their
| earrings rivaled those of a woman of
the present day, both in length and
size. They were fashioned of shells
and in some instances hung almost to
| the shoulders of the weare The pain.
on their faces served the double pur-
pose of decoration and protection from
the fierce glare Of the sun.
Paul noted their brusque manners.
and likewise observed, with considerable
apprehension, that his visitors still car